


Write Your Own Song

by maxiekat



Category: Four Brothers (2005)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Family, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-09 11:31:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 96,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxiekat/pseuds/maxiekat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack survives the shooting. He has a long recuperation ahead of him, plus Bobby's being a nag, Jerry's worrying constantly, and Angel's thinking about proposing to Sofi. If that wasn't enough, a new threat arises just as life starts to get back to normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ , _Inner Glow_ by Blue October, or _Seagull_ by Bad Company.

**Chapter One**

_Now you fly through the sky, never asking why_

_And you fly all around 'til somebody shoots you down_

Drowning.

He was drowning. How fucked up was that?

Drowning. In the middle of Detroit. On his mother's front yard. Without so much as a drop of water anywhere.

What was that saying? Water, water everywhere and not a drop to spare? Yeah, that was it. Only in this case it was blood - lots and lots of blood.

He coughed, trying to clear his throat, trying desperately to breathe. All he could manage to drag into his lungs were short bursts of air, and even that was excruciating. The effort was tiring him out and it took all his willpower to keep his eyes open, to not drift off. He was pretty sure once that happened, there'd be no coming back.

Something was rattling in his chest, like something was broken - like he was broken. The longer he lay there - bullets volleying above him, the cold snow beneath him - the more scared he was that no one would be able to put the pieces back together again.

Shit. Why did he have to answer the fucking door? Even his niece, Amelia, could have seen that one coming from a mile away, and she was all of three. Well, it wouldn't come as surprise to anyone anyway. He excelled at screwing up and this was as screwed up as you could get.

He could hear Bobby shouting for him, an echo amidst the gunshots; the desperation in his voice an odd comfort to Jack. Bobby sounded terrified. Imagine that - his big brother scared. Not that Bobby would ever cop to it in a million years. He'd just as soon shoot you as admit any weakness. But Jack had seen the pain in his eyes that night they'd come home after their mother's funeral. He was just as hurt and angry as the rest of them.

No matter how much Bobby liked to act tough and talk big - and man, did he like to talk - he wasn't fooling anyone, least of all his brothers.

Jack tried to yell back, tried to let Bobby know he was still hanging on, but something was bubbling up the back of his throat, threatening to choke him. _Blood_ , his mind screamed, but he tried to ignore it.

It was no use. He was alone. If anyone tried to get to him, they'd be shot, too. They'd be bleeding to death right along side of him on their mother's front yard. Not exactly what he'd call a fitting tribute to the memory of Evelyn Mercer.

The gunshots were quieter somehow, muffled and distant. The bright white of the sky was growing dark and gray; there didn't seem to be any colors left anymore. That didn't seem right. Everything was fading. Was he fading, too? He was still breathing, at least he thought he was. It didn't hurt so much anymore, not even his legs and they'd been shot to hell. They'd gone numb hours ago. Had it been hours? It sure felt like it. He was so tired. It would be so easy just to close his eyes and go to sleep …

"Jackie!" a sharp voice broke through the haze and he forced his eyes open - unsure of when he'd let them close. Everything was fuzzy and he was having trouble focusing. It didn't really matter, though, because his mind was obviously playing tricks on him.

His mother was dead. She died in a convenience store, shot to death while shopping for Thanksgiving dinner. He vaguely remembered her inviting him a few weeks ago, and he vaguely remembered telling her he'd try. It had been a lie and she knew it. She always knew when he was lying. It was easier than the truth, which embarrassingly amounted to: "Sorry, Ma, but we might have a gig that night at some crap bar in the really shitty part of town. Can't let the fans down - ya know, if we actually had any."

He hadn't seen his mother in months and their phone conversations had been few and far between; but she was here now, holding his hand when he needed her most. She looked sad, but determined. Yeah, it was definitely his mom. She looked like she was going to scold him for sneaking a smoke on the roof outside his bedroom window or for clumsily stumbling in past curfew. He always managed to find that one step that creaked. Ten years in that house and he never could remember which one to avoid.

"Ma," he tried to whisper, looking up at her like she was the only thing in the world. Everything had faded to gray, but she was as bright as the sun. Gently squeezing his hand, Evelyn reached out with her other hand and smoothed his hair back from his forehead like she always used to do when he was a kid - a constant battle to tame the untamable.

"Oh, Jack," she said quietly.

"Sorry," his voice catching on the word, his eyes pleading for forgiveness.

"There's nothing to be sorry about. You just have to hold on a little bit longer. Please, Jack, do that for me," she squeezed his hand again. He tried to squeeze back, to reassure her in some way that he was going to be okay, but his hand wouldn't obey and his fingers remained slack in her gentle embrace.

Instead, he gave her a shaky smile, it was all he could manage. "I'll try," he wanted to say, but he couldn't lie to her. Not again. Not ever again.

He was tired, more tired than he can ever remember being in his life. Maybe this was meant to be. What were the last ten years of his life anyway but borrowed time? He should have died years ago, would have if Evelyn hadn't entered his life. She saved him, plain and simple. Maybe some clock had started counting down that day she met him - rescued him, really - and now that clock was just winding down, ticking off the final seconds of a life that should have ended years ago.

He sensed movement above him, bodies crowding around him. His mother let go of his hand and he blindly groped for it, needing that connection. She was standing off to the side and his eyes locked with hers. She smiled and then took a step back, disappearing from his line of sight. Panic gripped him as he felt his chest grow oddly heavy, like a vice tightening, cutting off his air. Coppery blood flooded his mouth, choking him.

Hands gripped his face, rough yet gentle. A brother's hands. Bobby's hands. He was talking, crying, probably shouting, but Jack couldn't hear him. Sound was gone from his world. It left with all the color. He tried to smile. Tried to comfort his big brother.

"Ma's here," he wanted to say, wished he could say. "Don't worry, I'll be with her. Please don't worry."

His vision was growing dim and he could barely make out his surroundings. It was like trying to watch a TV show through static. But he knew his brothers were there and it felt right. Angel, Bobby and Jerry. Family. His family. The only family he'd ever known. How he wished he didn't have to leave them.

XxXxXxXxX

"Don't die, Jack. Please don't die. Breathe," Bobby pleaded desperately as he watched the life leave his little brother. This couldn't be happening. How had he let this happen? He was supposed to protect him and all he managed to do was fuck things up.

Suddenly, rough hands pushed at his shoulders, tearing him away from Jack. "What the fuck?" he bellowed, drawing his hands into fists, determined to pummel whoever had the guts to touch him. His shoulder slumped when he realized it was Angel, but the fists remained.

"Get the fuck out of the way, Bobby," Angel ordered, a sternness to his voice that Bobby didn't recognize. Angel had grabbed Jack and rolled him onto his side. Blood poured from his mouth, staining the snow a sickening crimson. But Jack's chest remained still, his skin unnaturally pale.

"Jerry," Angel snapped, "go into the house, grab something thin, made of plastic. A bag or something - to seal the wound. Hurry, man."

Bobby's attention turned to Jerry who was sitting in the snow several feet away, a distant, bewildered expression on his face.

"Jerry," Angel yelled and Jerry slowly blinked, as though coming out of a daze. He lurched to his feet, looked down at Jack and made a funny sound in the back of his throat. He hesitated for a second more before running toward the house, his shoes slipping in the snow in his haste.

"What the hell do you think your doing?" Bobby asked as he watched Angel pull off his sweater and press it down hard on the wound in Jack's chest.

"I'm a Marine, Bobby, or have you forgotten? They do teach us more than just how to kill people."

"He's gone." Bobby's voice had grown thin, choked with tears.

"I'll say when he's gone," Angel said through clenched teeth without looking at Bobby. Jerry returned with a bag from some grocery store and handed it to Angel. Angel rolled Jack onto his back and, pulling back his layers of t-shirts, placed the bag over the bullet wound. Faint sirens filled the silence as Bobby and Jerry watched and waited for some miracle Angel apparently thought he could pull out thin air.

Jerry dropped to his knees and placed a hand on Angel's shoulder. "You tried, man. We were just too late. Too fucking late."

Angel didn't answer, simply shrugged Jerry's hand off his back and started CPR in earnest. "Come on, Jackie," Angel practically begged as he breathed for his brother and pressed on his still chest. Jerry turned away, unable to watch. Bobby simply stared at the scene before him, guilt crushing down on him.

"He's gone," Bobby repeated quietly, more to himself than to anyone else. There was a gun on the ground next to him, lying in the blood stained snow, discarded in the middle of the war that had broken out only minutes earlier. It was in his hand before he even realized what he was doing.

He pulled himself to his feet, his world reeling and threatening to drive him back to his knees. But he stood his ground and squared his shoulders. Tears fell unchecked down his cheeks, but anyone looking into his eyes would only see cold, steely anger.

The sound of his brother frantically trying to save Jack punctuated each lurching step as he made his way to the damaged van that now blocked the street. There was a guy in a ski mask slumped over the steering wheel, still very much alive. The guy begged and pleaded, but Bobby didn't hear him. He didn't care. Nothing fucking mattered. Not with Jack lying dead less than a dozen feet away. Pulling the trigger brought no satisfaction, but Bobby didn't care. Eye for an eye, and all that shit. That's how things worked around here and he wasn't one to break with tradition.

The sound of the gunshot was still echoing in his ears when he heard his baby brother suddenly gasp for air.


	2. Chapter 2

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Living In the Twilight_ by The Weepies.

**Chapter Two**

_You look darkly on the day, memories to light your way_

_A little sad, but it's alright. We are always living in the twilight_

Jack was swinging his legs back and forth, the heels of his boots bouncing noisily off the drawers of the dresser he was sitting on. "Jack …" his mother scolded gently.

"What? It's not like they can hear me," he said with a shrug as he continued his relentless abuse of the cheap hospital furniture. He hated hospitals; he'd been in them far too much in his time. And sitting around one for days on end with nothing to do was making him go a little stir crazy.

"They might not be able to hear you, but I can. I don't think my ears can take it anymore," Evelyn said, raising an eyebrow, her wry expression one he knew well. She wasn't mad, but she was fast approaching annoyed.

"Oh, right," Jack mumbled as he forced himself to stop the nervous habit. He pulled his legs up and shifted around until he was sitting Indian style. He started pulling at the fraying edge of the cuff of his shirt, suddenly very interested in a thread that had come loose. He wrapped it around the tip of his index finger, watching as the skin turned an angry red and then a deep purple. It was fascinating and he repeated it three times before he became bored with it.

Without realizing it, he started drumming a beat on his knee. It was a song he'd been working on in New York, just before all this shit went down. Hell, he'd been trying to solve a chord problem in the chorus at the exact moment the phone rang, a rattled Jerry on the other end. He wondered if he'd ever get to play that song now - probably not - and now he was wishing he'd shared it with someone. He never trusted anyone with his music until it was as close to perfect as he could get it without help; he sucked a collaborating, a fact that regularly pissed off his fellow band mates. Now he was regretting the fact that no one was ever going to hear it - it was a pretty kick-ass song.

Evelyn reached over and stilled his hands. "Honey, this is important. You really should be paying attention."

Reluctantly, he slid his gaze to the other occupants in the cramped hospital room. They were arguing, nothing new there; though this argument was a little more hushed than normal, like they were trying to keep it from exploding into an all out war. It was silly, really, like they were trying to keep from waking the guy in the bed. Thing was, chances were slim to none that he was ever going to wake up anyway.

XxXxXxXxXx

"Bobby, man, sign the paper. Staring at it ain't gonna change what it says," Jerry said as he crossed his arms and started to pace, each step echoed by the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the whoosh of the oxygen.

"You're so fucking ready to give up on him, you sign it," Bobby said as he dropped the clipboard and pen onto the bed he was sitting next to. The clipboard had a Do Not Resuscitate form attached to it, a form Bobby had read over and over again until he had it memorized. The doctor had talked to them about it when Jack was first brought in, more dead than alive. He explained everything in calm, even tones that made Bobby want to bash the guy's face in. Two days ago, the doctor had the guts to broach the subject again. Jack didn't have a living will and the decision on whether or not extreme measures should be taken to prolong his life now fell on the shoulders of his brothers.

"Bobby, that's not fair. Jerry can't sign it and neither can I. Since Ma died, you're in charge of this stuff," Angel said from his unofficial post, leaning up against the wall. It was the same spot he chose every day he came to visit, like any deviation from it would disturb the order of the room, the universe, or something. It didn't slip Bobby's notice that the spot was slightly off to the side, the bed not quite in Angel's line of vision. Angel seemed to avoid looking at Jack as much as possible.

Bobby, however, couldn't take his eyes off his little brother. Always watching and waiting for a sign - any sign, really, that his brother was still with them, trapped in the darkness but trying to make his way back. Lately, it seemed like he was the only one of the three of them with any hope left at all. But when it got dark out and he was left alone with Jack, the machines the only sound in the room, he would let the doubt creep in. It was one of those nights that he mulled over the doctor's words and let them sink in. It was one of those nights that he finally accepted the fact that he wasn't going to be able to save Jack this time. That he was going to have to let him go.

The light of day, however, made that fact a whole lot harder to swallow. Bobby meant to sign the consent form, had every intention to sign the consent form, but something was stopping him. Be it stubbornness, be it bullheadedness, he just couldn't let him die without trying to do something, anything. He'd already let him down once, he couldn't bring himself to do it again.

"We talked about this," Jerry sighed, his shoulders slumping. He sounded tired and he looked worn down and beat. "We're not giving up, but he's not getting any better and we need to let him go if the time comes. _If_ , Bobby, not _when_."

"It's been three weeks," Angel said, his voice stern, the tone matter of fact - like he was ordering a cup of coffee, not making a life or death decision.

"Well, shit Angel, I didn't realize there was a fucking time limit. I'll keep that in mind if we ever have to watch you fight for your life in a goddamn hospital bed. Sorry, Ang, been three weeks, gotta pull the plug." Bobby's jaw clenched, he had a gleam in his eyes that he usually got right before pounding an opponent into the boards. That was usually all the warning they got before they woke up, dazed and confused, sprawled out on the ice.

"We're not pulling the plug …" Jerry started with a frustrated sigh.

"Yeah, but we're just going to let him slip away without a fight. Ma woulda been so proud."

"Don't you dare bring Ma into this."

"Why the fuck not? She's as much a part of this decision as the three of us. She never gave up on him and she sure as hell wouldn't give up on him now."

"You think she'd want him to live his life as a vegetable? Hooked up to machines, brain dead? Jesus, Bobby - do you think Jack would want that?"

Bobby stood up, sending his chair rocking back, threatening to crash to the floor. "He's not fucking brain dead."

"The doctor said --"

"Screw what the doctor said."

Jerry ignored his outburst and continued. "The doctor said his body is failing him. They've done all they can and it's up to Jack. Bobby, he ain't fighting. You gotta see that. He looks worse every day. One more cardiac arrest and --"

Bobby took a step forward, the threat evident in the set of his shoulders. Jerry didn't back down and it felt like the temperature in the room had dropped twenty degrees in less than a minute.

"You don't honestly think this can be solved with a fight, do you?" Angel said as he pushed away from the wall and walked around the bed.

Bobby laughed - a cynical, twisted laugh. "Trust me, everything can be solved with a fight." As if to prove his point, he jerked his head to the left and then to the right, the bones in his neck popping as he drew his hands into fists, readying to throw the first punch.

"Give me a fucking break," Angel said under his breath as he stepped between his two brothers, hoping to defuse the situation before they got thrown out of the hospital. That one nurse had been giving them the evil eye again and he could tell she was just itching to call security on them.

"He's dying," Jerry said, looking down at the floor, his voice breaking. Bobby lunged at that, but Angel caught him before he could reach his target. Angel wrapped his arms around his older brother, first to stop him before things got even uglier, but it soon turned into an awkward hug as Bobby clung to his shoulders, his back shaking slightly. Angel felt his own tears dampen his cheeks as he finally turned his gaze to the patient in the bed.

Jack was a tall, gangly guy, but he seemed to be shrinking, disappearing before their eyes. Cheeks hollowed out with sickness, a grey pallor to his skin. He looked dead. Only the white noise of all those damn machines reassured them otherwise.

"Jerry's right," Angel said and Bobby suddenly pushed him away, almost violent in his actions.

"Just get the fuck out of here, both of you," he ground out between clenched teeth as he hurriedly brushed the tears off his face with the back of his hand. His hands were trembling and he needed to take a steadying breath before he did something stupid.

Neither brother moved as they stared wide-eyed at Bobby.

"Now, damn it. Just leave me alone, leave me the hell alone." Feet dragging, he made his way over to the chair and slumped into it. He didn't notice the look the other two exchanged, concern for him evident in their expressions. Nor did he notice when they finally left, leaving him alone with Jack.

Pulling the chair closer to the bed, Bobby leaned over and folded his arms on the mattress and laid his head on top of them.

"Damn it, Jack," he said aloud, the beeping of the heart monitor his only answer.

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack was standing behind Bobby, looking down at himself in the bed. It was an odd vantage point, to say the least. He looked like crap, he had to admit. The bandages and shit scared him. If he ever did wake up, he was going to hurt like hell.

Evelyn was standing opposite him, also looking down at the patient in the bed, a look of love making her face glow from within. He just stared at her, soaking in the image of her face, branding it into his memory. The fight he'd just witnessed made him think there wasn't much time left and he wasn't sure what was going to happen once all of this went away.

She reached down and ran her fingers over his brow. "Oh, Jackie. Why aren't you fighting? This isn't like you."

"That's not true," Jack said and she looked up at him, shaking her head, a sad expression on her face.

"Then why are you here with me instead of awake with your brothers?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. She always had a way of cutting through the bullshit. Even with Bobby.

"I'm not … this is … this is just some hallucination. They've probably got me on some really good drugs. That's all this is." The words sounded hollow to his own ears. This felt more real to him than anything else had since coming back to Detroit.

"Fine, I'm a hallucination. Well, your hallucination wants to know why you aren't trying your hardest to make your way back to your life. Hanging out with your mom is going to get pretty boring," she said, crossing her arms, her lips compressed into a thin, stern line.

"I didn't know I had a choice. And you're not boring. Bobby would get boring, but you? Never," he said with a crooked grin.

"You always have a choice," she said, ignoring the last part of his statement. "I taught you that a long time ago."

Jack sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, and look at how many wrong ones I made."

Evelyn walked over to him and put an arm around his back, leaning against him, sharing her warmth. He towered over her, but whenever he was next to her, he always felt like that little eleven-year-old kid with the massive attitude and the broken spirit, afraid to trust anyone. He'd pushed and pushed, determined to do the damage before it could be done to him, but Evelyn didn't budge. But even more amazing, she never pushed back.

"Sweetie, you made the right choices when it mattered most. I was always proud of you."

Jack didn't know what to say to that. Stuff like that always floored him, that she could say things like that so easily and without any sort of ulterior motive.

"I don't have anything to go back to," he admitted softly.

"Your band --"

"Sucks," he finished for her.

"They do not. You just need a little soul in your music, more feeling. Right now it just feels mechanical, like you're all just going through the motions."

Jack barked out a surprised laugh. "Thanks for the critique, Ma."

"Well, I do know my music. I don't think I ever told you, but I was at --"

"Woodstock, I know. You should've told me. I would've loved to have heard about it," he said.

She patted his arm. "There'll be time for that later. Much later, if I have my say."

"Fine, there's the band, I guess."

"And your brothers."

Jack shrugged. "They don't need me. I just screw things up."

"Jackie, that's not true." She sounded hurt and gestured to Bobby who was still sitting in that uncomfortable chair. "He needs you more than you know. They all do."

As though he heard them talking about him, Bobby pushed himself upright in the chair, away from the bed. Stretching, he let out a strangled laugh that sounded empty and tired.

"Come on, fairy, enough with the beauty sleep. Wake the fuck up."

"Yeah, he's all kinds of broken up," Jack said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Bobby just has his own way of showing he cares," Evelyn said as she left Jack's side and moved next to her eldest son.

"Well, he calls me a fairy constantly, so he must really care a lot. You gotta admit, ten years is a long time to keep making the same stupid joke," Jack said, a hint of frustration in his voice.

"Sensitivity is not one of his strong points," she admitted as she reached out and touched Bobby's arm. "He's scared of losing you."

As if on cue, Bobby reached out and grabbed Jack's hand, carefully avoiding the IV running from the back of it as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against their joined hands. For the first time in his life, Jack saw his big brother cry. It was like he'd been hit in the chest with a two-by-four as the air pushed from his lungs and he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. He was looking at Evelyn like she could magically solve all his problems. But he wasn't that eleven-year-old punk anymore and she didn't have all the answers.

"If I go back, what about you?" His voice sounded small to his ears, younger than it should.

"What about me?" She was smiling that wry smile of hers again, the one that made her so different from other moms.

"Well, this'll go away. You'll go away." He started to unravel the loose thread on his cuff again, afraid to meet her eyes. He hated goodbyes. He sensed her standing next to him, but he kept his eyes glued to the floor.

"Jackie." There was a gentle insistence in her voice that spoke volumes - she wasn't budging until he stopped stalling and looked at her, really looked at her.

He finally raised his head, his eyes glassy and red from unshed tears. "I miss you," he admitted, his husky voice deep but quiet.

She reached out and touched his cheek. "I miss you, too."

"So, this is goodbye?"

Evelyn nodded and smiled. "For now."

XxXxXxXxXx

"Come on, Jack. Enough of this shit. I'm tired. I want to go home. I want a hot shower and I want to sleep in my own fucking bed tonight."

Apparently Jack didn't care where Bobby slept that night because his plea had no effect. Jack remained still, his hand slack in Bobby's grasp, his eyes closed.

Bobby racked his brain, trying to think of anything that might trigger a response. He was growing desperate. He was going to have to sign those papers tomorrow and even though that didn't mean pulling the plug or any of that other shit he threw in Jerry's face, it still felt like he was shutting the door on any chance Jack had left to come out of this thing.

"I'm gonna sell your guitar and use the money to buy a truck load of Celine Dion cd's ." Nothing.

"Angel and La Vida Loca are moving into your room because it has the better view and the box spring is practically new." Still nothing.

"Okay, Jack, how about this - you wake up and I swear I will never call you a fairy again."

Jack's hand moved, Bobby swore it did. "Jack," he said quietly as he waited for a sign he wasn't hallucinating. He hadn't realized he was holding his breath until he let it out in a rush when Jack groaned and turned his head slightly, his eyes cracking open.

Jack squinted up at Bobby, his expression confused and hazy. "Bobby?" he croaked, his voice barely a whisper after weeks of silence.

"Hold on, kid," Bobby said as he jumped up and filled a cup with water at the sink. He held the cup as Jack sipped slowly from a straw.

"Easy, fairy or you'll get sick."

Jack pulled his head back and looked intently at Bobby, his brow furrowing.

"You just promised …"

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."


	3. Chapter 3

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Blood on Blood_ by Bon Jovi

**Chapter Three**

_Through the years and miles between us it's been a long and lonely ride_

_But if I got a call in the dead of the night, I'd be right by your side_

 

"Hey, what's with the whole Elmo look?"

Jack narrowed his eyes in confusion. He must have heard him wrong. "What?"

"Elmo - hair in the face, all moody and shit."

"Emo," Jack corrected, a little baffled about where his brother came up with this stuff.

"That's what I said. Emo," Bobby said as he dropped into the chair next to Jack's bed.

"No …" Jack started slowly, "you said _Elmo_. Furry. Red. Muppet. Any of this ringing a bell?"

"Does his hair look like shit, too?"

"Like you have any room to talk, Bobby," a shrill, heavily accented voice sounded from the doorway and Bobby sighed dramatically, leaning his head back in exasperation.

"Angel are you trying to drive me insane?" Bobby asked the ceiling as he propped his feet up on the bed, coming dangerously close to hitting Jack's leg. It was immobilized in a clunky brace, a brace Jack had a sinking feeling he was going to be stuck with for quite some time. As the doctor pointed out, it wasn't a good idea to get shot in the knee.

"Angel's not here. He went to the cafeteria to get something to eat," Sofi said, a hint of annoyance in her voice. Nothing new, really - there was always a hint of annoyance in her voice. More that a hint, usually.

"He's voluntarily eating hospital food?" Jack asked, grimacing. He'd only been awake for a couple of days, but he was already sick of the food and was wondering if he could make a request to only eat pudding for the three weeks or so the doctor was threatening to keep him in there for.

"He's used to eating food in little foil packets in the desert. Not to mention Sofi's cooking," Bobby said with a laugh.

Sofi scowled at him as she made her way over to the opposite side of the bed. "I'll remember that the next time you ask for seconds."

She leaned over Jack and placed a hand on his forehead. She did that the other day too, and both times he had to resist the urge to flinch away from her. Motherly concern wasn't exactly a side of Sofi they often saw and it scared him a little. "How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically gentle.

"I'm okay," he mumbled, telling the truth for the most part. He was getting better, that's what the doctor said. It was going to be long, it was going to be slow, and it was going to be painful, but he was going to get better - if his family didn't drive him insane first.

She scowled as she moved her hand to his cheek. "You feel warm. Are you sure you don't feel sick?"

"Jesus, just leave him alone, you crazy bitch," Bobby said, rolling his eyes.

"He could get sick. He could get an infection. He has to be careful." She was shouting across the bed over Jack.

Bobby stood up and matched her stance, eyeing her down like they were locked in an epic battle. Jack leaned back into his pillow, trying to avoid the line of fire. He regretted the movement immediately as sharp pain radiated from his shoulder and through his chest, stealing his breath for a second. Neither of his visitors noticed, though, they were having too much fun fighting with each other.

"That's what the fucking doctors and nurses are for." God, Bobby could get loud.

"Doctors get busy and they get distracted; they make mistakes."

"Well, thank God we have you then. Ain't nothing going to fucking happen on your watch."

Jack felt like he was trapped in the middle of a ping-pong match from hell. His hand inched slowly toward the call button as they continued to throw insults back and forth at each other.

"Fuck you, Bobby - look at what happened on your watch," Sofi said, venom dripping from her voice as she motioned toward Jack. Bobby's face went white, then flared red.

 _Shit_ , Jack thought as he pressed the call button. _Shit, shit, shit._ Bobby was going to kill her, there was no doubting that look on his face.

The pain in Jack's chest suddenly intensified and it felt like someone was choking him. He was going to start coughing, he knew it. It was going to hurt like hell and once he started, it was almost impossible to stop. It wasn't long before he lost the fight to keep from coughing, and the spasms rocking through his healing chest made it feel like he was being shot all over again.

Bobby was oblivious, still staring down Sofi when a nurse came rushing into the room, wedging herself between Bobby and the bed.

"Damn it, Mr. Mercer. I've already told you yesterday that you have to remain civilized if you want to be allowed to visit," the nurse scolded, her back to Bobby as she checked Jack's vital signs and attempted to calm him down.

"Go wait outside," she said coolly, without glancing at either visitor.

XxXxXxXxXx

"Nice going, La Vida Loca. Real fuckin' nice," Bobby taunted as he leaned up against the wall outside Jack's room, his hands jammed into the pockets of his winter jacket.

Sofi was pacing and muttering to herself in Spanish when she stopped in her tracks and spun around, glaring at the oldest Mercer brother. He had to admit she was beautiful, even with her nostrils flaring like some enraged bull preparing to charge. Beautiful or not, Bobby still couldn't figure out what Angel saw in her, why he kept going back to her whenever he was on leave. A quick lay, sure, but it came with a price - a loud, earsplitting price.

"This your fault, Bobby." She was actually wagging a finger in his face.

"How is this my fault? You --" Bobby started, taking a step toward her, but his attention was drawn to the doctor walking down the hall - Jack's doctor to be exact.

"Hey, Doc," he said as the man approached. The guy ignored him as he squeezed past them and stepped into Jack's room. Bobby started to follow, but the door was closed in his face. He stared at the door, unease settling over him. He didn't like being shut out of anything, least of all anything that concerned his baby brother.

There were no sounds coming from the other side of the door. That was good right? Jack had stopped coughing. Everything was going to be fine.

"What're y'all doing in the hallway?" Angel's voice rumbled behind him and he turned to see his brother standing there, his arm around Sofi, a cup of coffee clasped in his other hand.

"Bobby got us thrown out of Jack's room," Sofi said, her lips twisting into a smug smile.

"So what's new?" Angel asked as he took a sip of his coffee.

Bobby was about to protest the charges, when the door opened and the nurse appeared. "Dr. Harris would like to have a word with you." Her voice was flat and any empathy she had for the concerned family had visibly fled days ago.

The doctor was standing by the bed with Jack's chart in his hand when the Mercers filed back into the room. Bobby glanced at Jack; he looked a little paler than when he'd arrived earlier. Maybe a bit more tired, too. Bobby felt a twinge of guilt. He just wasn't built for this bedside vigil type stuff - he had no idea how to be nurturing and supportive. Jack needed Evelyn, plain and simple. Hell, they all did.

Jack gave Bobby a wan smile and nodded at Angel as he made his way to stand next to the bed.

"You okay, kid?" Angel asked softly.

Jack opened his mouth to reply, but the doctor took it upon himself to answer for him.

"Jack is still healing. He's recovering both from the gunshot wounds and from the coma. He needs rest and he needs to be kept calm."

Jack rolled his eyes and Bobby grinned at his response. Jack hated this guy's relaxed, this is for your own good demeanor almost as much as he did. It was like having fucking Mr. Rogers for a doctor.

"Mr. Mercer," the doctor continued, his tone still genial, maybe a little bit more impatient than normal, "you can't start fights in the middle of this hospital. It won't be tolerated."

Geez, the guy was scolding him like his third grade teacher had after he'd attached caps to the wheels of her chair. She'd been a real tight ass, too. The doc didn't have a wedding ring. Maybe he should look up good ol' Miss Whatshername and hook the two of them up.

"You can't fucking keep me away from my brother," he protested and the doctor sighed.

"I think that right there is what he's talkin' about, Bobby," Angel offered dryly.

XxXxXxXxXx

"Pneumonia?" Jerry repeated for the second time since arriving at Jack's room. He was surprised to find Bobby, Angel, and Sofi scattered around the room, watching Oprah in silence while Jack appeared to be taking a nap.

"Yeah, pneumonia. Now be quiet before you wake the kid up," Angel said in a loud whisper.

"Too late," Jack said without opening his eyes.

"Sorry," Jerry said as he sat down in the last remaining chair. Bobby had raided the hallway the other day, snagging a couple of extra chairs from a nearby lounge. Jerry figured it was only a matter of time before an orderly figured out where they'd gotten to. Wouldn't matter though, Bobby would just go steal more from another floor. He had a knack for taking without asking and it usually worked in his favor.

"Don't worry about it. I was awake anyway," Jack said as he slowly opened his eyes. He squinted at the bright light hanging above his bed and then turned his attention to the TV, a confused look on his face. "Did everyone just freak out because she gave them a book?"

"What did the doctor say?" Jerry asked, a little alarmed at Jack's appearance. He looked sick again and his breathing was kind of raspy. Jerry hated seeing him look like so weak and tired, it reminded him too much of when things had been touch and go. And that had only been a couple of days ago. It was so easy to forget how close they'd come to losing him when he was sitting up and joking around with everyone.

"I'm going to be fine --" Jack started to explain but Bobby interrupted him.

"Yeah, if you call pneumonia fine."

"I told you so, didn't I?" Sofi interjected and everyone groaned.

"What do you want? A fucking medal?" Bobby was trying to keep his voice under control, but there was no mistaking the anger.

"I don't have pneumonia," Jack said, forcing his way back into the conversation. "It might have turned into that, but they think they caught it in time. It's nothing to get worked up about."

Jerry sighed. "Jack, let us decide if we want to worry, okay?"

"Whatever, man." Jack shrugged and looked down at his lap, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. Jerry just stared at him, unsure of what to say. He knew that Jack hated to be fussed over, hated to be the center of attention. He didn't like to think he was putting anybody out, like he thought wasn't worth the trouble or something. Jerry always wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into that stubborn head of his, convince him that he did matter, that what happened to him mattered a whole hell of a lot.

"You can quite staring, Jerry. I ain't gonna die on you, I promise," Jack said without looking up, a crooked grin on his face. Jerry laughed, despite the worry knotting up his stomach.

"If you say so, kid," Jerry said, trying to keep his voice light.

"Yeah, because if I did, I think Ma would kill me."

XxXxXxXxXx

"I'm sorry, Jack," Bobby said quietly from the chair next to the bed. He was the only one left in the room, everyone else had gone home. Visiting hours had ended a couple of hours ago, but Bobby was never one to worry about rules and regulations. To him, they were more like a dare.

"Sorry about what?" Jack asked with a yawn. The room was pretty much dark except for a faint light above the bed and the glow from the television. Some reality show was on, the volume so low you could barely hear it.

Bobby sat up a little straighter in the chair. "Thought you were asleep."

"Nah, just resting my eyes. So - sorry about what?"

"Nothing."

Jack laughed but regretted it immediately as his chest tightened uncomfortably. The pain was making him impatient. "Come on, Bobby. Enough with the bullshit. I heard you apologize."

Bobby shrugged and even in the faint light, Jack could see how ill-at-ease his brother looked. But he wasn't about to let him get away without answering the question.

"I shouldn't have let you get hurt," Bobby admitted, leaning back casually in his chair like he'd just apologized for spilling milk. Jack had a feeling that he was trying to pretend none of this bothered him, that he didn't give a shit. That it was every day his brother was shot in a gang war in front of their house. He suddenly had a weird flash of Bobby crying by his bedside and he knew the indifferent attitude was all for show.

"You didn't _let_ me get hurt. I answered the door. I ran after the idiot who threw the snowball."

"Snowball?" Bobby asked suddenly and Jack felt his face redden in embarrassment.

"Yeah, a snowball," he admitted quietly. It did sound a little ridiculous.

"Okay - that was pretty stupid, Jack. I think we can both agree on that one." He looked at Jack as though expecting an answer, and Jack nodded without saying anything. "Anyway, I should have never let you get involved in the first place."

"Bobby, how could I not get involved? She was my mother just as much as she was yours."

"Yeah, but she wouldn't have wanted you to be part of that shit that went down. I should have sent you on that first bus back to New York, where you belong."

"Right," Jack said as he shifted in his bed, trying to get comfortable. "Bobby, I belong in New York like you belong in whatever hole you've been hiding out in for the last five years."

Bobby didn't answer and Jack felt himself start to drift off. He knew that Bobby wouldn't leave for a while. He was never there in the morning, but Jack was pretty certain that he spent the better part of each night there, sprawled out in that uncomfortable looking chair next to his bed.

"Admit it, Bobby," Jack said, mumbling through a yawn, "this is home. Always has been, always will be."

Bobby reached over and took up the remote from Jack's loose grip, flipping through the channels until he found the hockey game he was looking for.

"Sure, Jackie," he answered once he was certain his brother was asleep. "Whatever you say."


	4. Chapter 4

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _When It Don't Come Easy_ by Patty Griffin

**Chapter Four**

_You're out there walking down a highway and all the signs got blown away_

_Sometimes you wonder if you're walking in the wrong direction_

"Hi, Bobby." The nurse at the desk smiled at him and he grinned back, resisting the urge to start flirting. She'd been giving him the eye ever since Jack had been transferred to her floor a couple weeks ago and he had to admit that she was hot as hell, but he didn't need any more complications in his life right now. "He's in his room, all packed up and ready to go," she answered before he even had the chance to ask.

She grabbed a clipboard and motioned for him to take a step closer. "There are just a couple of things you need to sign and the doctor left some instructions for Jack to follow - exercises and stuff like that. Plus, there are a bunch of prescriptions you need to get filled."

"It's too soon, isn't it?" Bobby said, voicing the worry he'd been carrying around with him all day.

She shrugged. "He'll be fine. He can heal at home just as easily as he can heal in rehab. Plus, he gets to sleep in his own bed. He's been pretty restless in here." She smiled as she tried to reassure him.

"I'm just worried, ya know. He's been real quiet," Bobby admitted as he blindly signed the forms. His other hand was in the pocket of his jacket, his fingers toying with the guitar pick he had buried in there. It had been there since last week, after he'd finally remembered to bring Jack his guitar. He'd given Jack the little piece of plastic, pleased with himself for thinking to bring it. Jack had only given him a tired grin and told him he never used one anyway. Well, he should at least get credit for trying.

"Well, you're his brother, so you'd know best, but he strikes me as a quiet kind of guy."

Bobby nodded. _Yeah, but lately …_ he thought, but didn't say out loud. The hard plastic dug into his thumb as he forced a smile.

XxXxXxXxXx

He made his way down the familiar hallway, dodging some lady in a wheelchair and nearly knocking over a guy who was struggling with a walker. The old man flipped him off, but Bobby ignored him. Wasn't his fault the guy was so damn slow.

The door to Jack's room was open and he stopped just short of crossing the threshold, finding it a bit hard to believe that this day had actually arrived. He still had dreams at night where he didn't reach Jack in time and he died in his arms. Those dreams scared the hell out of him.

Jack was sitting on the bed, unaware that his brother was there. His head was down, his hands in his lap, and he was actually twiddling his thumbs. It was a nervous habit he'd had as long as Bobby could remember.

His bags were piled on the floor along with his guitar case, a set of crutches and a cane. The crutches hurt his shoulder but he was still really unsteady on the cane. Bobby's own knees ached every time he thought about all the hardware that was now in Jack's leg and all the painful surgeries it had taken to get to where he had a fifty-fifty chance of walking again.

Well, he was walking again, if that's what you'd call the halting, lurching gait that Jack now moved in. The therapist was optimistic - predicting Jack would just have a limp by this time next year. At this point, Bobby was just happy to have his little brother alive and well; he didn't care if he ever walked again.

Of course, Jack being Jack, he was more worried about his shoulder. Turns out, Jack's shoulder was just about as screwed up as his leg - the nerves and muscles damaged, screwing up his whole right arm. When it came to fucking up - his baby brother rarely did anything halfway.

There was a chance Jack might not be able to play guitar again, at least not was well as he used to. It didn't escape Bobby's notice that the guitar stayed untouched in the corner of Jack's hospital room after that first day he tried to play it..

Bobby cleared his throat and took a step into the room. "Cracker Jack," he said and he was rewarded with an annoyed sigh as Jack looked up and pushed his shaggy hair out of his eyes.

"Ready to go home?" Bobby asked and Jack grinned, getting unsteadily to his feet.

"Yeah, ready to go home."

XxXxXxXxXx

"Jack drinks jack, Jack drinks jack," Jack chanted as he raised the shot glass to his lips. Just as he was about to take a sip, Bobby reached out and snatched the glass away, spilling the amber liquid all over the table and his brother.

"Damn it," Jack growled, shaking the whiskey off his shirt.

"Sorry, sweetheart - Jack does not drink jack. Jack's on painkillers and antibiotics. Jack drinks milk or juice."

"Fuck you, Bobby."

"Sperm was not an option," Bobby said without missing a beat. Both Angel and Jerry broke out in laughter and Jack glared at them.

"Traitors," he mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest, looking for all the world like a pouting five-year-old.

"Bobby's got a point," Jerry said, taking a sip of his beer.

"I don't care if Bobby's got a point. I haven't had a drink in forever and we're supposed to be celebrating my coming home."

"And you'll celebrate with a coke - quit your whining," Bobby said, waving down the waitress.

The place was nearly empty. A couple of regulars were in their usual seats at the bar and a young couple was arguing quietly in the corner. To say there wasn't much action on a bitterly cold Wednesday night in their part of Detroit was an understatement. There were Applebees with more raucous crowds. The fact that the place wasn't crowded suited Jack just fine. He was still jumpy around strangers, a fact he wasn't about to share with his brothers.

"One drink isn't going to kill me," Jack said quietly and was rewarded with a cold look from Bobby.

"Jack, do not go there," Angel warned under his breath and Jack just shrugged, smearing the spilled whisky on the battered table in random circles.

"I could still haul your ass back to that hospital, you know." Bobby leaned forward, his elbows propped on the table. "Your therapist said you should stay for at least another week."

"We couldn't afford another week and you know it." Jack shifted restlessly in his chair, wincing as the movement pulled at the torn muscles in his shoulder. "I can exercise and go to outpatient therapy just as easily as I can do it at Henry Ford, stuck in some shitty room with a guy who talks non-stop about his mom and insists on watching Lifetime all day."

The waitress returned with his soda and he stared at it, willing it to turn into a shot of whiskey, or at least a glass of beer. Anything but soda. He finally gave up and took a sip.

He was tired of people telling him what to do. He thought it would be different once he left the hospital, but he didn't even have to check his watch to know that it had only taken Bobby approximately three hours to start bossing him around again. Shit, it shocked the hell out of him when Bobby agreed to his suggestion of getting out of the house and grabbing a couple of drinks.

It wasn't like Jack had planned on going out in the first place - on the drive home from the hospital all he could think about was sleeping in his own bed for the next forty-eight hours or so. Evelyn's house was always a home to him - safe and warm. Even before she adopted him, back when he was just a foster kid making another stop in a string of hopeless placements, he'd always felt protected under her roof. Evelyn was his mom long before those papers were signed.

But as Bobby pulled up to the curb and Jack looked out the window at that familiar house, an icy fear swept over him and he knew something had changed.

His brothers were working on repairing the damage - Bobby had explained that it was slow going with the three of them doing all the work and Sofi hanging around, nagging them at every turn. The worst of it was gone, the front of the house was almost back to normal; but Jack swore he could still see the bullet holes. Hell, he could still hear the gunshots echoing in the back of his mind.

Several feet of snow had fallen while he'd been in the hospital, more than enough to cover up the spot he had been lying in after getting shot. More than enough to cover up the blood, but he swore the snow was still stained red in the exact spot he'd almost died in.

Maybe he was going crazy? Maybe he should talk to that psychiatrist at the hospital, like his doctor suggested. But he hated shrinks; all that talking about his feelings and dredging up the past never led to anything but more pain.

At least the inside of the house didn't freak him out as much as the outside. Of course, it wasn't as though he'd almost bled to death in the family room.

"I'm thinking of asking Sofi to marry me." Angel's steady voice broke into Jack's dark thoughts.

"What?" Jack sputtered as Jerry sighed, shaking his head, and Bobby's face turned a dark shade of red as his eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. If it was possible, steam would have been pouring from his ears, like a Bugs Bunny cartoon. Suddenly, Jack had and image of Bobby as a pissed-off Elmer Fudd and he couldn't help laughing.

Bobby looked at him sharply. "What the hell is so funny?"

Before Jack had to think of an answer, Bobby turned his attention back to Angel. "What the fuck planet are you living on? Marry La Vida Loca? Are you on drugs? You know it would break Ma's heart to know you were back on drugs again."

Angel leaned back in his chair, tipping it onto its back legs and he shrugged. "Ain't drugs, Bobby. It's love, you should try it sometime."

Jack, who had been trying to hold in his laughter, completely lost it, triggering Jerry, who quickly dissolved into a fit of laughter as well. Jack's still healing lung rebelled against the abuse, but he ignored it, it felt too good to actually have something to laugh about for a change.

Jerry was the first to gather his composure. "Angel, are you serious about this?"

"Of course I'm serious."

"Sofi?" Jerry was still shaking his head, whether in disbelief or disappointment, Jack couldn't tell.

"Why is this so hard to believe?" Angel was obviously getting angry.

"She's crazy."

"Loud."

"Tiring." All three brothers spoke simultaneously.

"Really loud," Jack added, almost as an afterthought.

Angel looked slowly from brother to brother, his face blank, giving away nothing.

"Y'all are just jealous."

XxXxXxXxXx

"Shit, does this mean we gotta carry him into the house?" That was Bobby.

"Just wake him up, man. I need to get to bed," Angel answered and Jack slowly opened his eyes. He was in the backseat of Bobby's new car, an '82 puke brown behemoth that was somehow even more of an eyesore than the one he wrecked during a particularly hazardous car chase in the snow.

His leg was stretched out in front of him, stiff and swollen, and he wasn't looking forward to trying to move it just then. But judging from the looks on his brothers' faces, he wasn't going to be allowed to sleep in the car.

"I got it," he said roughly. "It's going to take a minute."

Several minutes later, Jack was sprawled out on the couch, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

"Angel, is that you?" Sofi's voice traveled down the stairs.

"You got it from here?" Angel asked, obviously impatient to get upstairs to his future fiancé.

Bobby nodded and Angel bolted before Sofi could start shrieking about how he was taking too long.

Jack stared after him, his brow furrowing. "You don't think he's going to ask her tonight? Do you?"

"He better fucking not." Bobby was gathering up the clutter that was strewn all over the family room.

Cards and balloons were scattered about and a haphazard "Welcome Home, Uncle Jack" sign was hanging above the fireplace. His nieces had made it for him, and he couldn't help but smile as he looked at the crooked lettering and the little dog Daniela had drawn in the corner.

He leaned his head back into the cushion behind him and let out a tired sigh. His knee and shoulder were throbbing and the other bullet wounds that marred his legs were starting to ache, too. He'd overdone it, but he needed to be exhausted if he was going to sleep in that house without having nightmares.

Bobby stopped what he was doing and gave him a look that Jack would have called concerned if he didn't know him better. "Just give me a sec. I'll grab your medicine and then help you haul your ass up the stairs."

Jack looked at the stairs and groaned. "I'm halfway tempted to just stay on the couch tonight."

"Trust me, sweetheart, I'm halfway tempted to just leave you there."

Just then, the phone rang and Bobby bit off a curse. "Who the fuck calls at this hour?" He made his way into the kitchen and picked up the extension that was hanging on the wall next to the refrigerator.

A minute or two later, Bobby was back, carrying a glass of water and a handful of pills. He handed it all over to Jack, who quickly swallowed the pills, hoping the painkillers would kick in soon.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he sat the glass on the end table, Jack looked up at his brother. "Who was on the phone?"

"No one, just a hang-up."

"Wrong number?"

"How the hell would I know? They better not call back, if they know what's good for them," Bobby said as he eyed the stairs and then looked back at his brother. "Okay, how do we do this?"

"Seriously, Bobby, I'll just sleep on the couch."

Bobby stepped toward his baby brother and held out his hand, obviously impatient. Reluctantly, Jack reached out and let him help him to his feet. Leaning heavily on Bobby's arm, Jack painfully made his way toward the stairs.

"Hey, Bobby," he said with a tired grin.

"Yeah?"

"It's good to be home."

Bobby stopped and looked at him, shaking his head, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips as he tried not to laugh.

"Shit, Jackie, don't go getting all sappy on me. This ain't no fucking Hallmark commercial."


	5. Chapter 5

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Darkness on the Edge of Town_ by Bruce Springsteen

**Chapter Five**

_Lives on the line where dreams are found and lost_

_I'll be there on time and I'll pay the cost_

"Who the hell did this?" Bobby demanded from the front steps as he stared down at the top of the kid's head and his ragged mop of hair. It was not the view he preferred. What he wanted was a better look at that bruise that was blossoming across his cheek and the other one darkening his eye. He thought he saw a split lip, too, but the kid had ducked his head so quickly that he couldn't be sure.

"Was it Angel?"

The kid shook his head, at least he thought he did. It was hard to tell under all that damn hair.

"Jerry?"

Another no.

"Goddamnit, kid … Jack - tell me who did this and I'll take care of it."

Jack finally looked up and glared at Bobby. He wasn't expecting that - he was used to him being all timid and scared around him.

"Why do you care?" Jack said it so softly that Bobby had to lean in to hear him.

"What?"

"Why do you fucking care?" His voice was stronger now and he fired off each word like a violent gunshot. He gave an angry tilt to his chin, the blood streaming from his cut lip, staining the top of his t-shirt, as he silently dared Bobby to say something.

"I care because you're a Mercer now and we look out for our own."

The kid laughed and rolled his eyes and Bobby fought the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him.

"We look after our own," he repeated with conviction. "I'm your brother now and I'll fucking protect you from whatever shit made it look like you got in a fight with a truck and lost."

The kid pushed past him, heading for the front door, but Bobby grabbed his arm before he could get away. Jack violently pulled his arm away from him, his breath hitching in his chest and Bobby could see the fear that flashed in his eyes. He forgot - the kid didn't like to be touched. Well, Bobby didn't like to be ignored, so Jack was shit out of luck.

He waited, expecting Jack to rush into the house and into Evelyn's waiting arms, but instead he stood there, his breath spilling out in hectic cloudy puffs in the cold air.

"You'll protect me?" Jack said with a laugh far too cynical for someone so young. "You'll take care of me? Right, where have I heard that before?"

"I mean it Jack - I won't ever let you get hurt. I promise you'll be safe."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Jack said as he turned on his heel and went into the house, the door slamming behind him.

Bobby was alone on the porch steps but the scene around him had shifted and changed. Snow covered everything and the air was even colder than before. A useless shotgun dangled in one hand and soundless bullets ricocheted behind him, shattering brick and wood in their wake. There were people all around him, but he couldn't focus. The lack of sound was disorienting and everything seemed to tilt and spin without reason.

"Bobby!" A scream suddenly ripped through the silence and the world righted itself, the scene taking on a sharp clarity. That scream was the only sound Bobby could hear and the anguish and pain in that single word tore at his chest, driving the air from his lungs.

He frantically scanned the front yard, looking for the source of the screaming. There, not fifty feet away from him, lay his baby brother, the snow around him stained with blood. Disregarding the flying bullets and ignoring the black clad men surrounding the house, Bobby ran for Jack, but he didn't seem to be getting any closer. It felt like he was running through chest deep water, his legs growing tired as he tried to get closer but something was holding him back. The harder he tried, the louder the screaming got.

Finally, the invisible tether snapped and he surged forward, reaching his brother but it was too late. His legs collapsed beneath him and he landed hard on the cold ground, defeated. He felt his shoulders shaking and he realized he must be crying. He sat there next to Jack, the cold snow chilling him to the bone, but he ignored it. He sat there next to him as the sky grew dark and the light faded. At least he couldn't see the blood anymore.

"Bobby!"

The voice split sharply through the darkness and Bobby jolted awake, no longer on the front yard in the snow, but in his bed, tangled in his blankets. He blinked, confused as to how Sofi had suddenly appeared in the middle of his room, violently shaking his shoulder and shrieking in his ear.

"Jesus Christ, you scared me half to death," he said as he sat up in bed, trying to back away from her.

"I scared you?" she asked incredulously and then Bobby could hear another sound in the house, a low moan that sounded like someone was in a lot of pain or scared, or probably both.

"Goddamnit," he ground out between clenched teeth as he pushed himself up out of bed, grateful for the fact that he decided to throw on boxers before going to sleep that night. "Why are you in here instead of in there, trying to help him?"

"Angel is trying."

"Sounds like he's doing a bang-up job of it," Bobby said as he hurried to the room across the hall.

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack was half asleep on the couch the next morning. MTV was on in the background, actually playing videos for a change, but Jack wasn't really paying attention. His mind was wandering to no place in particular as he stared straight ahead, stifling the occasional yawn.

Last night had been rough, like he'd feared it would be. Between the pain and the nightmares, he wasn't sure how he managed to get any sleep at all. He felt a stab of guilt at keeping everyone else up, too. At one point last night, he'd woken up to what seemed like half of Detroit crammed into his room.

He'd never been so happy to see daylight in his life when morning finally rolled around. Bobby had wanted him to stay in bed, but Jack couldn't stand it anymore and wanted out.

Angel sauntered into the family room, yawning and stretching as he flopped onto the recliner in the corner. Jack could feel him staring at him. He knew what was coming next: the question he was getting tired of hearing.

"You okay?"

Jack resisted the urge to sigh and look at the ceiling in frustration. Angel had no way of knowing that Bobby had already asked him that five times that morning since waking up.

"I'm fine," he mumbled half-heartedly.

"It'll get easier, don't worry," Angel said.

"I know," Jack said with a shrug as he picked up the remote and started to blindly flip through the channels.

"I mean it. I've seen some seriously fucked-up shit as a Marine. Shit I haven't told any of you about." Angel's voice was low, lower than usual and that got Jack's attention. He looked over at his brother and saw the pain in his eyes, pain that he'd never noticed before. "I've had nightmares so real …" He swallowed heavily. "Look, Jackie, just believe me when I tell you that you start to forget and the dreams will go away."

Jack stared at Angel for a beat or two, uncertain how to respond. He finally settled on a simple, "Thanks, man."

Bobby came into the room carrying a tray of food. Wordlessly, he went over to Jack and placed it on his lap. He stopped for a second, stared at the tray, and then muttered "Shit" under his breath and turned around and headed back toward the kitchen.

Jack looked at Angel with a _what the fuck_ look on his face and Angel answered with a shrug. Bobby rushed back in, carrying a glass of orange juice and a glass of milk, which he placed carefully on the tray.

Jack examined the breakfast that Bobby had spent the better part of the morning slaving over. Overcooked eggs, shriveled-up bacon and burnt toast were crammed onto the plate in quantities he wouldn't have even been able to finish when he wasn't recovering from being shot up. A napkin was folded neatly under the silverware and for some reason that struck Jack as being really funny.

"You forgot a vase and flowers," he pointed out with a grin. Angel laughed but Bobby just stood there, failing to take advantage of the perfect opening for a fairy joke.

"Do you need anything else, Jack?" Bobby asked, a concerned look on his face. Jack shook his head slowly, wondering who was impersonating oldest brother and what they'd done with the body.

"Hey, how about me? Where's my breakfast?" Angel said with mock-indignation. Bobby walked past him and slapped him upside the head.

"Get your own fucking breakfast, jarhead."

XxXxXxXxXx

After breakfast, Angel and Sofi left to go shopping. She made a not so subtle reference to looking at rings and Jack failed to keep a look of horror from crossing his face. A look Angel apparently misread because he had leaned down and whispered, "Don't worry, Jackiepoo, she doesn't suspect a thing."

Bobby came in the room just as they were leaving. He collapsed into the recliner with a tired sigh.

"You okay?" he asked Jack for the sixth time and Jack shook his head.

"I'm fine. Really. I swear," Jack said. "Anyway, I should be asking you if you're okay."

"Nothing's wrong with me," Bobby bit out, showing a little bit of his trademark irritation.

"Right," Jack said, nodding his head. "That's why you haven't called me one name today. You made breakfast without bitching. And you folded a napkin, Bobby. A _napkin_."

Bobby leaned forward in the chair, resting his forearms on his knees. "I did not …"

"Yes you did."

"And not one name?"

"Nope."

Bobby shrugged. "Thought you hated that shit anyway?"

"I do - but it's a little scary when you stop. It's like going cold turkey without cigarettes. Bobby, you need to become a nice guy gradually."

Bobby snorted in response. "Trust me, Jackie, that ain't gonna happen anytime soon."

"Well, something's gotta be bugging you." Jack shifted on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position. A pillow fell on the floor and he reached over to grab it, but Bobby was there first, picking it up and gently helping Jack sit forward as he put it back and readjusted the others.

After Jack got settled, Bobby took a seat on the coffee table, brushing aside a pile of old magazines and an empty candy dish. He looked steadily at his younger brother.

"Do you remember when you moved in with us?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah."

"And how that shithead Tony kept beating on you but you refused to say anything?"

Jack looked down at his wrist and started fidgeting with the leather wristband he wore. "Yeah," he said quietly.

"But one day I watched you leave school and followed you and caught that punk as he had you cornered. And he never touched you again after that, did he?"

"You know the answer is 'no'. You broke his arm."

"And you know why I did that, right?"

"Because you're a badass who likes to beat people up?" Jack answered with a grin.

Bobby laughed. "Well, yeah, there's that. But I also did it because the day you became a Mercer I swore to you, I swore to Ma, and I swore to myself that I would never let anything happen to you."

"Bobby - please, not again. It's not your fault. 'Sides I'm here and I'm not planning on checking out anytime soon - so, mission accomplished."

"I know, but --"

"Man," Jack cut him off, a stunned look on his face, "who knew that Bobby Mercer secretly had this huge hero complex?"

"Fuck you, Cracker Jack."

"Maybe you should start wearing tights and a cape."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, you little fairy?"

"Feel better?" Jack asked.

"Oh, I've just gotten started."


	6. Chapter 6

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Inner Glow_ by Blue October

**Chapter Six**

_  
Whatever happened to the song, the soul, the me I used to know_

"Jack, man, I'm really sorry, but we gotta do what's best for the band. We'd wait for you, but you know how these things go down. Once the deal's on the table you gotta take it before it disappears."

Jack opened his mouth to say something, but the guy on the other end of the phone didn't bother to pause to take a breath. He was nervously rambling and practically shouting, fighting to be heard above the racket behind him. The sounds were so familiar - the disjointed notes and chords and run-throughs as the band warmed up and practiced. He hadn't realized how much he missed his music until he heard a couple of bars of a familiar melody pour out in the background. A melody he had helped write.

He rolled his right shoulder, feeling the tightness of the muscles and the pain that shot down his arm, following the path of the damaged nerves. The worst was the numbness and tingling in his fingers and how clumsy he was with just the simplest things. His physical therapist told him he was improving but he was tired of the minuscule improvements, the baby steps, he just wanted to take a giant leap and get back to his life.

The guy on the phone was Mark - the lead singer of The Spares, the band Jack played lead guitar for. _Scratch that_ , Jack thought wearily, _the band he used to play lead guitar for._

Mark had just spent the last five minutes explaining why Jack had been replaced by the person who had been filling in for him while he was recuperating. Turns out his fill-in was pretty awesome on lead guitar and the band had been booking show after show this last month. Naturally, a record producer happened to be at a show, and the rest, as they say, was history.

Jack had a hard time believing the new guitarist was any better than he was - he just didn't look nearly as hot in a skirt as Ash did. And that was like the final nail in his coffin, his replacement was some chick. Some chick who barely knew her Keith Richards from her Slash and thought Sid Vicious was that guy in the Harry Potter movies. Some chick who thought that shortening her name from Ashley to Ash somehow made her rock and roll.

She'd been part of the bar scene in New York just as long as he had, only she drifted from band to band, never finding a good fit - not like the one he had with The Spares. An image of her on stage flashed through his mind and he could see why the guys were ditching him.

She looked the part - there was no question about that. Hell, Jack had even been drawn to her, engaging in some extra-curricular activities with her that were more than memorable. But she was just surface - an act. The guys would realize that eventually. Meanwhile, he would be slowly turning into the world's youngest shut-in, anchored to the couch, the remote control permanently fused to his hand.

He was beginning to think he had the worst fucking luck in the world.

"Who pissed in your daisies?" Bobby asked as he stepped into the room. Jack hung up the phone, dropping the receiver with a little more force than necessary.

"No one," he said quietly, tracing his fingers over the tattoo on his arm, wondering if it would be too hard to change "Spares" into "Spared". He was beginning to think that fit more with how things were turning out anyway. He'd been spared, but shit lot of good that was doing him at the moment.

"Hey, if it'll cheer ya up, I'll let you wear my jacket."

Jack sighed and shook his head. "Bobby, I'm not twelve anymore - I don't care about your Redwings jacket. Plus, I'm pretty sure the sleeves would be too short for me now anyway."

"You think you're fucking funny, huh?"

"Yeah."

"We could test your theory. I bet Ma kept the coat."

"I'm sure she did."

Bobby went to the hall closet and started rummaging through all the crap that had piled up over the years, but he came back empty handed.

"Upstairs," was all Bobby said as he stepped up to the banister and impatiently motioned for his brother to follow him.

Jack groaned and leaned his head back on the pillows propped behind him. "Come on, man. Just bring it down here."

"Quit being such a pussy. The exercise'll do ya good. Hurry up, I'm not getting any younger here."

"You could say that again," Jack mumbled under his breath, earning a glare from his older brother.

XxXxXxXxXx

"See, told you it would fit," Bobby said with a smirk.

"Then it must reach your knees," Jack joked as he shrugged the jacket off, wincing as it pulled on his shoulder.

"Smartass," Bobby said as he smacked Jack across the back of his head.

"Hey," he protested as he instinctively rubbed the spot that had already stopped hurting.

Bobby didn't apologize as he picked up his prized jacket and put it back on the hanger in the closet.

He hadn't worn it since he'd been kicked out of the league. Jack knew that still bugged him - that they'd basically snatched his career away from him. Of course, Bobby never took any responsibility for the league's decision. He would always argue that fighting was part of the sport, an unspoken rule of the game. Well, when you're fighting more than you're actually skating, you should probably reexamine your reason for playing in the first place. Not that Jack would ever point that out to Bobby. That was one argument Bobby would never let anyone walk away from.

Jack looked around the room, taking in the familiar things that were intrinsically tied to his mother. The little knick knacks she had scattered all over the place, the pictures tucked into the frame of her mirror, the goofy crap he and his brothers had brought home from school and she'd made a show of displaying proudly. Bobby might be staying in her room, but he hadn't taken away anything that belonged to their mother.

Limping over to her dresser, he picked up a framed photo of the five of them - all the Mercers in one place for a change. They were on the porch steps. Evelyn was in the center, a warm smile on her face. Angel and Jerry were on either side of her - Jerry was grinning like mad and Angel looked bored. He never did like to get his picture taken. Bobby was in front of Ma, his arm reached out - he was either about to attack Jack's hair or had just done so moments before, probably bugging the hell out of the younger kid. Jack was ducking out of the way, a rare smile on his face.

Jack ran his fingers over the picture. They were all so young and had already seen so much. He could never remember smiling before he came to Evelyn's house. She'd done so much for all of them and asked for so little in return.

He'd always wondered why - why had she taken them all in and given them a home and a family. He'd even asked her once, but she'd only smiled and touched his face and said, "Oh, Jackie," in that way that made him think he was supposed to already know the answer.

Bobby came up behind him and reached out, grabbing the picture from Jack's hands. "That was a good day," Bobby said with uncharacteristic nostalgia.

"Yeah?" Jack asked quietly.

"You don't remember?"

Jack shook his head, his eyes still on the picture.

"That was the day Ma signed your adoption papers - made it official. She liked to do this kind of sappy shit with stuff like that - take pictures, bake a cake, make a big deal out of everything," Bobby explained as he sat the picture down on the dresser in the exact same spot Jack had picked it up from.

"She certainly did," Jack said, his voice thick with emotion.

He could remember the day, but he couldn't remember taking the picture. He had been terrified, scared that the Mercers were playing some sort of joke on him. Any moment his social worker would come storming in and grab his arm, dragging him back out of the house because it had all been a mistake.

It was a year before he finally stopped planning his escape - a backpack full of clothes and supplies hiding in his closet in case he had to make a run for it. He remembered when Evelyn found the bag. She'd looked disappointed but she didn't yell at him. She took both of his hands in hers and explained that they were a family, all of them, including him. She'd told him that dozens of times and he'd always nod his head, hoping the conversation would end soon so that he could disappear to his room, turn his music up and pretend he didn't care. For some reason, though, he believed her that day. It was like an old key turning in a rusty lock, and he finally let himself become a part of her family.

Still standing at the dresser, Bobby reached over and grabbed Evelyn's jewelry box. It was covered in a thin layer of dust that he brushed off with the hem of his shirt.

"Guess we should check and make sure there aren't any rings for Angel to give to La Vida Loca," he smirked as he opened the lid, an envelope dropping out and landing on the floor.

"Angel has just as much a right to use one of Ma's rings as we do," Jack said, awkwardly reaching down to pick up the paper as his older brother rummaged through the costume jewelry and sentimental pieces Evelyn had held on to.

"Not if he's going to give it to that psycho. No fucking way," Bobby said sternly.

Suddenly very tired of standing, Jack carefully made his way over to the bed, practically collapsing on it. His knee was aching like crazy and he still had an hour before he could take another painkiller. Bobby still going through the jewelry box, holding a ring or two up to the light, like he was suddenly an expert on precious stones or something.

Shaking his head, Jack examined the envelope he was still holding on to. It was addressed to Evelyn. The top had already been torn open and he cautiously peered inside, feeling a bit like he was snooping. Another envelope was tucked inside and he couldn't resist pulling it out. He had the letter it contained in his hands before he could give it a second thought.

He must have made a sound or something because Bobby was suddenly next to the bed, looking down at him, a concerned and confused look on his face.

"What's that?" he asked and Jack swallowed heavily.

"A letter," he managed to say.

"Yeah. So?"

"From my mother."


	7. Chapter 7

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Gravity's Gone_ by The Drive-By Truckers

**Chapter Seven**

_So I'll meet you at the bottom if there really is one  
They always told me when you hit it you'll know it  
But I've been falling so long it's like gravity's gone and I'm just floating_

_  
_The tree stump Jack was sitting on was a memorial of sorts to Bobby's need to burn shit down.

Jack wasn't a Mercer yet when it had happened, but he'd heard all about it, several times. Hell, he could tell the story in vivid detail if he wanted to since Jerry took every opportunity he could get to share it.

His beloved treehouse - up in flames.

It took Jerry all summer to build that thing from plans he'd carefully drawn up himself. He'd gathered supplies from a neighbor who was building a deck and overestimated the amount of lumber he'd need. It was a really hot summer, and dry, too, but Jerry worked every chance he got, hammering nails into planks at all hours of the night until Evelyn had to force him to come in for dinner. It took weeks, but Jerry never wavered from his plans until he was finished - proudly unveiling his work for his two brothers and their mother one late July night.

And it had taken approximately one week for Bobby to destroy it.

Jerry always told the story with such a somber expression that Jack had to fight the urge to laugh. It really wasn't funny, but the idea of the fire department showing up, sirens roaring, trying to extinguish a fire in a tree while two teenagers looked on - one crying and one cracking up - was just too priceless not to laugh.

Grinning despite himself, Jack pulled a cigarette out of the battered pack he'd found hidden in his bedroom. He knew Bobby had already found all the loose tobacco and Marlboros he'd brought with him from New York and trashed them - for his own good, of course.

No, these cigarettes were old, a forgotten pack from when he was a teenager and had to do stuff like stash them throughout the house to keep Evelyn from finding them. Why he bothered hiding them in the first place, he couldn't figure out. His smoking wasn't something Evelyn had been clueless about - she'd known, of course. Something about her, though, made it feel like he should at least try to pretend he didn't smoke, make some effort to act like a normal teenager and normal teenagers hid things like smoking from their parents.

He pulled out his lighter and spun it around in his fingers, the metal cooling quickly in the brisk air. He studied the cigarette he was holding and wondered if it was worth it. It was going to taste like shit; there was no way it wasn't. He wasn't relishing the thought of inhaling stale tobacco, but at this point, he'd settle for anything that would calm his nerves and help distract him from the letter he'd shoved into his back pocket.

XxXxXxXxXx

Bobby was leaning against the kitchen counter, looking out the window when the front door banged open. He didn't turn around to see who it was - he could tell just by the sound of scurrying feet, the excited yippy little barks of the dog, and the ragged sigh of his brother. He'd almost forgotten that Jerry was coming over today with the kids - Camille was away at her sister's for the weekend and Jerry was stuck watching the kids.

Bobby heard the TV turn on and the obnoxious sounds of some kiddy show filled the house. He hadn't been around his nieces much, but he'd already learned that TV only distracted them for so long. Soon they'd be running through the house, giggling and chattering as they got in the way of everything. It was cute ... for about five seconds.

"Since when did you take up bird watching?" Jerry asked as he stepped into the kitchen, making a beeline for the fridge to grab a beer.

"Ain't bird watching. Fairy watching," Bobby answered as he turned around and reached out, grabbing the beer Jerry had just twisted the cap off of. "Thanks, man," he said with a grin, turning back toward the window.

Jerry stared at his empty hand for a second. He opened his mouth as though he was about to say something, but quickly closed it as he went back to the fridge for another bottle.

"It's freezing out there and he isn't wearing a jacket," Jerry stated as he joined his brother at the window.

"And this is news how?" Bobby asked, shaking his head.

"He's gonna make himself sick. What's he doin' out there, anyway?"

"Pouting? Thinking? Writing a ballad about your treehouse? How the fuck should I know?" Bobby watched as Jack fidgeted with his lighter, opening and closing it, repeatedly lighting and extinguishing the flame. Bobby was hoping he'd keep it up long enough that the damn thing would run out of lighter fluid before the he got a chance to light the cigarette he was holding.

Bobby had no fucking clue where the cigarette had come from in the first place; he'd cleaned all that shit out of the house before Jack had come home. Part of him wanted to run out there and bitch him out for smoking, but another part of him was tired of being the Jack Police. It was getting boring - for both of them.

Jerry turned and looked at him. "Well," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Well what?" Bobby asked as he took a swig of beer.

"Ain't you gonna go see what's bugging him?"

"Why me? I ain't no fucking Dr. Phil. You're better at this shit than I am. You go talk to him." Just as he finished his statement, something crashed in the family room, followed by high-pitched laughter and barking.

Jerry grinned. "Fine. I'll leave you with the girls and I'll go talk to Jackie."

"Right," Bobby said with a grimace as he pushed away from the counter and made his way to the back door.

XxXxXxXxXx

Just as he was about to light the cigarette, the door opened. Jack groaned, not surprised in the least to see Bobby step outside. Pretending he didn't notice his brother was walking toward him, Jack cupped one hand around the end of the cigarette to shield it from the wind as he lit it.

He didn't inhale as deeply as he usually did - it had been months since his last cigarette and he wasn't completely stupid - but that didn't matter and he was quickly in the middle of a world class coughing fit.

It hurt. It hurt like hell and it lasted forever. Bobby was right. He'd finally killed himself smoking.

The coughing subsided and he fought to catch his breath, wiping his hand across his mouth. Part of him was afraid he'd look down and find blood on his fingers after he'd literally hacked up a lung. But there wasn't any blood and as the pain eased and his breathing grew regular, he tried to convince himself he hadn't done any permanent damage.

Without even realizing he was doing it - it was just such an ingrained habit - he raised his hand to take another drag off the cigarette. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me," Bobby growled, stopping Jack just in time.

Jack was half-tempted to take the drag anyway, just to piss off his brother. Instead he ground it out on the tree stump and tossed the butt into the frozen, brown grass, missing the patch of snow he was aiming for.

A shiver ran through him and he wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly very aware that he was sitting outside in the middle of winter with only a sweatshirt on. He should go inside, but Bobby didn't have a jacket on either and Jack knew how much the cold bugged him.

Bobby had that pained expression on his face - the one that meant he wanted to talk, a talk that was more than likely for Jack's own good. Well, if Bobby wanted to butt in and be a pain in the ass, then he could do it while freezing his balls off in the snow.

"Don't start about the smoking," Jack said in a low voice as his brother took a seat next to him on the tree stump.

"Wasn't going to," Bobby said as he stretched his legs out in front of him, hooking one ankle over the other one.

"Right," Jack said with a derisive laugh.

"Why are we out here, Jack?"

Jack shrugged and busied himself with pulling the cuffs of his sweatshirt over his hands, a habit Evelyn would always scold him for, claiming he would ruin his clothes by stretching them out. The safety pins and holes didn't bug her nearly as much as a stretched out hem.

"It's the letter, isn't it?"

Jack shrugged again; he didn't want to talk about it. He was half hoping Bobby had forgotten about it or would at least not care enough to ask about it.

"Thought you always wanted to know who your parents were?"

Bobby wasn't going to let it drop and Jack gave up trying to avoid it.

"I did," he admitted quietly, "but that was before."

"Before what?"

"Before Evelyn," he said with a sad smile. "She made it different, ya know? She made it okay to stop hoping and looking and wondering. Why should I give a fuck who my real mother is when I have the greatest mom in the whole world right in front of me?" He winced as his voice caught on the last word, waiting for Bobby to make a joke about it.

Bobby looked at him steadily and Jack could sense his hesitation at what to say or do next. Bobby was never a heart-to-heart kind of guy and usually tried to avoid them as much as possible.

"What's the letter say?" Bobby suddenly asked.

"What?" Jack asked, taken off guard by the question.

"The letter … I mean, does the woman come off as some kind of fucking nutcase, or something?"

Jack thought about it for a minute. He'd read over the letter so quickly, the words blurring as his hands shook while holding it. Despite how little time he'd spent looking at it, he could practically recite it from heart, the words burned into his memory.

"Nah, man," he started slowly, "she sounds … I dunno, she sounds fine, I guess. Maybe a little sad."

"Sad?"

"Yeah, sad." Sighing, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the folded envelope and tossed it to his brother. "Here, since you're gonna keep asking me until I recite the whole damn thing for you anyway."

Bobby snorted a laugh as he pulled the letter out and unfolded the pages.

Bobby read silently and without comment. Jack kept twisting the cuffs of his shirt as he watched him read, almost wishing for a smartass remark or two sprinkled throughout to help ease the tension.

Closing his eyes, Jack could picture the careful feminine handwriting that stretched across the nice stationary she'd used. The letter was to Evelyn – well, not by name, but it was meant for the person who adopted him, for her to pass along to him, for her to talk to him about. But she hadn't had a chance.

The letter was dated for October, right around the time Evelyn had called and asked him to come home for Thanksgiving. He couldn't remember if she'd mentioned that she had something important to talk to him about or not; but then again, she knew that saying something like that would just make him worry needlessly for a month before she had a chance to talk to him face-to-face.

It was weird, but he could feel the uncertainty of the woman writing the letter and he supposed that made sense. He felt overwhelmed with uncertainty just reading it; he couldn't imagine what it would be like to actually sit down and write something like that.

She was young when she got pregnant - young and scared - and giving him up was the only option she had at the time. She said she knew a lot of time had passed, but that she had always wondered what he'd turned out like and what sort of life he'd had.

It sounded like she wanted some sort of absolution, that she wanted him to tell her she'd done the right thing. Part of him wanted to find a way to contact her so that he could fill her in on just what sort of a life she'd abandoned him to, but it was obvious she thought she was writing to the couple who adopted him when he was a baby. He figured she didn't know that they were killed in a car crash five years later and that he'd wound up lost in the system until Evelyn took him in.

It didn't take long for Bobby to finish reading and he looked up once he was finished. "Jackie, she seems okay. Not half bad. Ma would have been okay with it if you --"

"I don't want to," Jack cut in before Bobby could finish.

"You don't have to meet her, just write her a letter or give her a call." The words sounded awkward coming out of Bobby's mouth, too civilized or something. Bobby's timing really sucked when it came to dropping the obnoxious attitude.

Jack pushed himself up, slightly unsteady on his feet as pain shot through his knee. "Just leave it alone, Bobby." He reached down and grabbed the letter from his brother, hastily folding it back up and forcing it into the envelope before shoving it back into his pocket - as though he could pretend it didn't exist if he didn't have to look at it.

"Promise me you'll think on it," Bobby said, and Jack had to fight the urge not to laugh. Like he was going to be thinking about anything else in the days to come. Well, at least the letter had taken his mind off his shitty excuse for a band.

"Fine, whatever, I'll think about it," he mumbled just as Jerry opened the back door. The strains of some goofy song sounded behind him, followed by squealing and barking and more laughter.

"Hey, guys, can we maybe go to the rink or something? I've been meaning to teach the girls how to skate anyway and I don't think I can take another minute trapped in this house with them." Jerry disappeared back into the house as quickly as he appeared and Bobby looked up at his younger brother.

"What do you think? Up for a little skating?"

"I can't skate. You know that," Jack said, shaking his head but grinning.

"Whoever said you could in the first place?" Bobby deadpanned as he stood up and started walking back to the house, Jack following slowly behind him.

"Bobby, I could skate circles around you on my worst day."

"In your dreams, Cracker Jack, in your fucking dreams."

They were still arguing as they climbed the stairs and went inside, the door slamming behind them.


	8. Chapter 8

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _I Don't Think I'm Ever Gonna Figure it Out_ by Elliot Smith

**Chapter Eight**

_It's like some wild last frontier_

_You never know what kind of fight's gonna appear_

"You got skates for 'em?" Bobby asked as he ambled down the steps, his own set of skates draped over his shoulder.

"Yeah, in the car," Jerry explained as he knelt down, zipping up Amelia's coat and tugging on her knit hat, making her giggle as it covered her eyes. Daniela was already bundled up, her arms sticking straight out from her sides, as though she couldn't quite bend them properly in the thick winter coat.

Bobby stopped for a second on the last step and shook his head in amusement. "Jeez, Jerry, it's just Detroit, not the fucking Arctic."

"Language, man," Jerry sighed. "Do I have to keep reminding you?"

"Yes," Jack answered from the couch.

"Like you have the cleanest mouth in the world," Bobby shot back.

"I know not to curse in front of little kids," Jack pointed out as he grabbed his crutches and maneuvered himself upright. Bobby slowly looked him up and down, taking in the crutches and the leg brace.

"Thought you were through with the brace?"

Jack shrugged. "Consider it added protection. It's not exactly safe with you on the ice."

"You're just gonna be warming the bench," Jerry pointed out.

"Exactly," Jack said as he slowly made his way over to the others. "I once saw Bobby aim a puck at a guy minding his own business, standing all the way out in the parking lot."

"Really?" Jerry asked and Bobby shrugged.

"Yeah, really - he was on his cell phone and disturbing my concentration."

"How many stitches did it take to close the gash on his head?" Jack asked as he leaned forward, reaching over Jerry to grab his leather jacket from the rack.

"How the fuck should I know?" Bobby asked and Jerry groaned, feebly covering Amelia's ears as Daniela got a mischievous look in her eyes and opened her mouth, about to say something.

"Don't you even think about repeating what Uncle Bobby says," Jerry said, cutting her off and she slowly closed her mouth, her bottom lip turning down into a pout. The last thing he needed was one of the girls cursing in front of Camille - he'd never hear the end of it.

Jack cleared his throat. "Anyway, as I was saying - it ain't safe on the ice with Bobby around."

"Damn straight," Bobby said with an emphatic nod of his head.

"Damn straight," Amelia repeated, mimicking Bobby's nod, a huge grin across her face, displaying her missing front tooth.

"Bobby, man - how many times …" Jerry shook his head and opened the door, motioning for the girls to head outside.

"Damn straight," one of the girls shouted at the top of her lungs as soon as she stepped outside and was quickly repeated by the other one.

Jerry took one last, steady look at his older brother before stepping outside, following his daughters, trying to shush them before the whole neighborhood heard.

XxXxXxXxXx

"The key to a good check is to angle your shoulder just so before you slam the other guy into the boards. And if you're quick enough, a hard jab to the ribs with your elbow will really fu -- uh, screw the guy up."

Jack could barely hear his oldest brother over the sound of dozens of skates gliding across the ice. The rink was full of kids and their parents, with a couple of teens sprinkled throughout, darting in and out of the slower moving clusters of people. Winter was winding down and it wasn't going to be long before the rink was nothing but empty space framed by a rusty fence. There was always the indoor rink downtown, but skating outdoors was sort of a Mercer family tradition.

Jerry was off on the far side of the rink, patiently helping Amelia as she spent more time flat on her butt than up on her feet. He'd left Daniela in Bobby's care and Jack was amused to hear Bobby's idea of how to teach a kid how to ice skate. Jerry was going to kill him when he found out.

Daniela didn't look like she was paying attention anyway. She looked downright bored standing there, swinging her arms back and forth as she looked around longingly at the other kids who were actually skating instead of hearing the finer points of fucking up your opponent on the ice.

Jack remembered what it was like to be in Daniela's place. Granted, he hadn't been a five year old little girl - though he was sure Bobby would argue that fact - no, he'd been eleven and determined not to let on that Bobby scared the crap out of him. He spent most of the time shaking in his borrowed skates, his hands slick with sweat as he gripped his hockey stick, waiting in sick anticipation for his oldest brother to lash out at him and pound him into the ice.

It took him a while to realize that Bobby was all talk - well, toward him at least. The other guys in the neighborhood didn't get any reprieve as Bobby practiced his Michigan Mauler moves on them every chance he got. Evelyn joked that she was more expert at applying butterfly bandages than most ER doctors and Bobby gave her plenty of chances to improve her skills.

Since he was suspended so much from the Redwings, Bobby was home more often than not and seemed determined to mold the youngest Mercer into a mini version of himself. Needless to say, it didn't work; but Jack could easily hold his own on the ice, even if Bobby would never admit it.

Not that it mattered anymore, he thought as he looked down at his leg, stretched out in front of him, his knee throbbing despite the medicine he took earlier. Sighing, he stood up, grabbed his crutches and hobbled up closer to the ice and leaned against the chain link fence.

Someone stepped up behind him, but he kept his eyes on the ice, watching as Bobby led Daniela in a wobbly circle that ended with both of them sprawled out on the ice. He wanted to laugh, but part of him felt like he was missing out, that he had become a bystander in his family and his life, watching from the sidelines. He dropped his head forward, resting his forehead against the cold metal of the fence, watching as his breath formed clouds in the cool air.

"That is just about the saddest face I've ever seen," a voice said from behind him and he turned slowly to see an older black woman standing by the bench, her arms crossed over her ample bosom as she surveyed him with her knowing eyes and made a "tsking" sound, shaking her head from side to side.

He couldn't help but grin. "Miss Morrison," he said in greeting as he put a name with her face. She gave him a look and he remembered - like Evelyn, she wanted kids to feel comfortable around her, wanted them to trust her, so she insisted on being called by her first name. "Miss Harriet," he corrected himself. She rewarded him with a friendly and open smile that instantly put him at ease.

Harriet lived down the street from them and volunteered a lot at the youth center Evelyn would drag him and Angel to on weekends and sometimes after school. Jerry didn't have to go because he had a part time job and was older than most of the kids there anyway. If he remembered correctly, Miss Morrison had a son, Tyler, who had been killed in a drive-by shooting one summer afternoon while playing basketball on the courts behind the school. Jack wasn't sure how she did it - being around kids all day when she had lost her own - but she was there every weekend, a kind smile on her face and a glint of humor in her dark eyes. She reminded him a lot of Evelyn.

"Little Jackie Mercer," she said warmly as she stepped up next to him. She hesitated for a second, like she wanted to give him a hug but was afraid he'd break or something. He saved her the trouble of deciding and leaned down, embracing her in a quick, friendly hug that was made a little awkward with the crutches.

Harriet stepped back and gave him the once over again, shaking her head again. "Not so little anymore, though."

Jack self-consciously ran his hand through his hair and laughed. "Nah, not so little."

"I'm so sorry about your mom. Evelyn was a wonderful woman. One of the best," she said gently, her eyes tearing up.

He didn't know what to say beyond "thank you". He hadn't run into it much since he'd spent so much time cooped up in the hospital and at home, but his brothers said they heard it almost daily - someone trying to comfort them about their mother, passing along their prayers and sharing their memories.

"It's good to see you on your feet," she said.

"More or less," he added as he limped over to the bench and sat down, reaching down to rub his aching knee. She joined him on the bench.

"More or less is better than not at all," she said, making that "tsking" sound again. She had that way of hacking through the nonsense and getting to the point like Evelyn did.

"I suppose," he conceded with a shrug.

 _  
_"Plus, aren't you some sort of rock star now? That's what your mom told me, and I don't think you need to be able to skate to be a rock star."

"You've got a point there," he said, deciding not to share the fact that his shoulder was fucked up too. He was wallowing, he knew it, and didn't need to pile all his misery on this woman. She'd just tell him he was full of shit anyway - and she'd probably be right.

He just felt like he was stuck in neutral with nowhere to go and he was getting to the point that he dreaded waking up in the morning to find out what cruel joke God had concocted overnight to torture him with. The letter was the last thing he needed right now and he was worried he had finally reached his breaking point.

"Um, I was wondering - had you talked to Evelyn recently? Like a month or two before she died?" he asked, fighting the urge to wring his trembling hands as he spoke. He really needed to get his hands on a fresh pack of cigarettes or he was going to suffer a nervous breakdown before he made it to the age of twenty-two.

"Your mom and I would meet every once in a while for coffee. Why? Got something on your mind?" Her smile was warm, but her eyes were sharp and he could feel her studying him, trying to sort out just what he was after.

"Did she say anything … well, did she say anything about my real," he winced at the word and corrected himself, "um, about my birth mom? Maybe that she'd talked to her or something?"

If Harriet was surprised, she hid it really well. "No, no she didn't. Did you find something? Something of your mother's?"

He nodded, looking up and catching sight of Jerry and Bobby on the ice. Jerry looked like he'd finally figured out what Bobby was up to and was giving him a piece of his mind.

"Yeah. I found a letter."

His was leaning forward in his seat, his hands gripping the edge of the bench, his uninjured leg bouncing nervously as he spoke. Harriet reached over and covered his closest hand with her own, squeezing it gently before reaching up and touching his cheek in that motherly way so many of the women in this neighborhood had.

"Oh, sweetie …" she started and Jack found himself rushing to explain, the words coming to him so much easier than they had with Bobby.

"She wanted to get in touch. To see if I would want to meet her and her family." He stopped and looked at the sky and took a deep breath. "Family," he said, the word angry somehow, accusing. "She has a family."

"It's been a long time, Jack," Harriet reasoned and part of him knew he was being irrational.

"Well, she's got a family - so why not just forget about me? She has for the past twenty-one years, why not shoot for twenty more?" He was rambling, but it was like a dam had suddenly burst, spilling out all his confusion and anger. "Why throw getting to know her out there, dredge up all that crap I tried to put behind me? And what if I want to?" He practically mumbled that last part.

"Want to what?" Harriet asked gently, prodding him along like a seasoned detective.

"What if I decide I want to meet her? Wouldn't that be …" He took a steadying breath, again searching out his brothers and the kids on the rink, like they were his anchor. "Wouldn't that be like I was turning my back on Evelyn? Like I was saying she wasn't enough?"

"Jack Mercer, you know your mother better than that," she said simply. He hung his head, suddenly very embarrassed to be so very wrong.

Evelyn would have loved for him to get to know his birth mother, would have done everything in her power to help him find her if he asked. There wasn't a selfish bone in her body. She wanted what was best for him - what was best for every kid who crossed her path.

Harriet stood up and looked down at him and smiled. "You'll figure it out. And you'll make the right decision, I know you will."

He lifted his head, meeting her gaze and for a second he saw Evelyn looking down at him, her blue eyes dancing as she reached out and pushed his hair off his forehead like she always used to do.

"I have faith in you, Jackie."

XxXxXxXxXx

"It was only one punch. Ain't my fault the guy's nose got in the way." Bobby and Jerry had been arguing the whole way home. Jack was in the backseat, one niece on each side of him, both kids dozing lightly despite the raised voices coming from the front of the car.

"He knocked Amelia down. If you were half the man you claim to be, you woulda been the one to take a swing at him. As it was, I had to step in and set him straight."

"It was an accident, Bobby," Jerry sighed. "Lots of people fall down. It's ice."

"He wasn't watching where he was fucking going and he got what he deserved. Right, Jackie?" Bobby asked, glancing into the rearview mirror.

"Whatever, man," Jack said, his voice flat and his expression blank and bored.

"See," Bobby said, nodding toward Jerry, "your little sister agrees with me."

Bobby finally stopped talking once they pulled up in front of the house. Jerry had to coax each kid out of the car, giving Jack enough space to gracelessly get out of the backseat without falling on his ass on the sidewalk.

Bobby was first through the door, sorting through the letters and catalogues he'd grabbed from the mailbox. Jerry and the girls were right behind him, with Jack bringing up the rear on his crutches.

Kicking off his shoes, Bobby collapsed with a groan into the recliner, suddenly feeling every second of his thirty-three years. The phone started to ring and he glanced over at his brothers - Jack was practically asleep on the couch, stretched out and not about to get back up, and Jerry was still getting the girls out of the layers of clothing he made them put on before going outside.

"Damn it," he muttered to himself as he lowered the footrest and pulled himself to his feet, making his way to the kitchen to grab the extension in there.

Not paying attention to where he was walking, he felt something warm and wet soak into his sock the second he stepped into the kitchen. He looked down and realized he was standing in a yellow puddle.

"What the fuck?" he ground out, completely confused as to what the hell was going on. The ringing phone momentarily forgotten, he glanced toward the backdoor and saw Jerry's dog sitting there, wagging its tail like it didn't have a care in the world. Its tongue was hanging out of its mouth like a fucking moron and Bobby was convinced it was laughing at him.

"You little shit," he said as he took a step toward the beast.

"Bobby, answer the damn phone," Jack yelled from the family room.

"You're fucking lucky," Bobby said as he pointed an accusing finger at the dog, "but don't think for a second I'll forget about this."

Bobby picked up the phone and put it to his ear. "What?" he practically shouted, not really caring about manners now that his sock was covered in piss and a dog was mocking him in the corner.

There was silence on the other end and Bobby was about to hang-up when he realized he could hear breathing in the background.

"Look, I don't know who the fuck you --"

"Mercer," was all the voice on the other end said, cutting him off.

"Yeah, what?" Bobby asked, quickly losing his patience with the cryptic asshole on the other end.

"You didn't really think it was over, did you?"


	9. Chapter 9

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _I Can't Decide_ by The Scissor Sisters

**Chapter Nine**

_It's a bitch convincing people to like you_

"You got a death wish or something, you fucking moron?"

Bobby was gripping the phone so tightly that it was a wonder that it didn't shatter in his hand. It was a struggle to keep from shouting and alerting his brothers in the other room. Control was key here, well, as much control as he could muster at the moment.

There were a lot of things in the world that pissed him off - babies crying, old people who thought they could drive, losing a pick-up game, dogs that pissed on the kitchen floor, sunshine - but threats against him and his family topped the list. Either the guy on the other end had no clue who he was talking to or he was itching to see the inside of a freshly dug grave.

The guy chuckled and Bobby rolled his eyes. The idiot probably thought he sounded sinister and menacing.

"You made my life difficult, Mr. Mercer. I don't like it when things become difficult."

"Boo-fucking-hoo. What do you want? An apology. Sorry, asshole. How's that?" Bobby started to pace, his wet sock sloshing on the linoleum.

The cord got twisted and he found himself wishing he had sprung for a cordless phone like Jack had suggested, a phone with caller ID. He hated technology and rarely trusted it, but Jack was right on this one. Sometimes he could just be too damn stubborn.

The guy laughed again - that was getting old and Bobby added it to his list of things he'd shoot someone over. It was a long list.

"Did Sweet really strike you as the mastermind behind everything? Did you really think he ran the show?"

Bobby shrugged. "Honestly, I haven't given Sweet any thought since he disappeared, what's it been? Three, four months ago? My guess is he got scared and left Detroit with his tail between his legs like the little bitch that he is."

 _Or maybe he's on ice, waiting for the Spring thaw_ , Bobby thought to himself with a twisted grin. He'd surface sooner or later, but Bobby was confident the cops wouldn't find anything to pin on him.

"Disappeared. Right, Mr. Mercer. I hadn't heard you had a sense of humor."

"Oh, I'm a fucking stand-up comic. Guess Ol' Vic forgot to pass that along."

"Well, ever since Victor _disappeared_ , my business in Detroit hasn't been performing up to standards. It's costing me a great deal of money, Mr. Mercer."

"Aw, I'm cryin' buckets here. Shitty economy, I guess. It's hurtin' us all." Bobby was itching to hang up.

"Money isn't all of it, you know."

"It never is."

"Victor may have been a bit of an idiot, but he was family. My family to be exact."

Bobby stopped pacing. "Malcolm was in charge and Victor killed him to get his territory. Everybody knows that."

As far as Bobby knew, Victor and his Uncle Malcolm were the only two members of that family connected with the business. 'Course this guy could be full of shit, but Bobby doubted that.

"Ah, yes, Malcolm. He underestimated Victor. My brother wasn't always as perceptive as he liked to think he was."

"Malcolm Sweet was your brother," Bobby stated steadily, the pieces falling into place.

"You're starting to see the bigger picture, Mr. Mercer. Perhaps you aren't the dumb thug I took you for."

"Victor was your nephew," Bobby said as he stretched the cord as far as it would go, walking to the kitchen sink, straining to see out the window. He scanned the backyard, half-expecting to see someone in the bushes with a rifle trained on the house.

"Well, maybe not that bright," the guy chuckled again and Bobby cursed under his breath.

"Victor was your son," he said, his tone as even as he could make it.

"Do I have your attention now, Mr. Mercer?"

Bobby chose not to answer. It wasn't often that he was taken by surprise but he was pretty sure this call couldn't get much worse.

"Your brother Jack - now I heard he wasn't exactly moving around too easily these days. Be a shame if something happened to him."

He was wrong.

XxXxXxXxXx

Bobby was thinking and that wasn't like him. He usually just punched whatever it was that pissed him off and moved on with his life.

The phone call was playing over and over again in his head, like a record that kept skipping. The bastard had threatened his family. Worse still, the bastard had specifically threatened Jack. Figured it was some sort of payback that would make the Mercers square with the Sweets if they lost their youngest, like they'd lost Victor.

Fuck that. No way anyone was going to get near Jack. Not on his watch.

Bobby slammed his fist into the wall, pain radiating from his hand and up his arm.

"What the hell was that for?"

If he hadn't been so angry about the phone call, he might have realized Jerry had stepped into the kitchen, a witness to his fight with the wall.

"Nothin', man," he mumbled as he shook his hand, biting off a curse as he looked down and saw the fresh blood blooming across his knuckles.

"You're a lousy liar," Jerry said, shaking his head as he leaned against the doorway.

"And you're standing in dog piss," Bobby said as he turned and walked over to the sink, grabbing a couple of paper towels for his hand.

"Jesus, Marvin," Jerry scolded as he looked down at the puddle he was standing in. Marvin's response was a happy little wag of his tail.

"Stupid dog," Bobby said as he examined his knuckles, flexing his hand with a grimace.

"You punched the wall because the dog peed on the floor?" Jerry was looking at him like he'd gone insane, and part of him was ready to agree with him and have done with it. Everyone was getting their shit back together. The last thing they needed was another gangster on their doorstep with an itchy trigger finger.

Tossing the wad of paper towels he was using over to Jerry, he grabbed one of the kitchen stools and sat down. Jerry bent to wipe up the mess on the floor. "So it isn't the dog?"

"No, Jerry, it ain't the dog. Give me a little more credit than that."

He was about to explain when the front door opened and closed, followed by Sofi's unmistakable giggle. Bobby made a fist with his uninjured hand and eyed the dent he'd already put in the plaster.

It didn't take them long to find their way into the kitchen, Sofi draped on Angel's arm, hiding her left hand behind her back. Bobby tried not to groan, he really did, but he couldn't help it. He had sinking suspicion he knew what was coming next.

"Baby, we should wait for Jack. He's passed out on the couch and I know he'd hate to miss out on this," Angel protested but Sofi nudged his side with her hip.

"I can't wait another minute," she purred, her smile a little feral and kind of frightening. She looked like a panther that had just made a fresh kill and was celebrating over the corpse.

She held her hand out, a modest sized diamond barely sparkling in the yellow light cast from the old fixture in the ceiling. Her smile stayed in place but Bobby watched her eyes grow hard as her gesture was met with silence. Angel cleared his throat and glared at his brothers.

"Congratulations, guys," Jerry finally managed and Bobby had to give him credit - he actually sounded like he meant it. Sofi dropped her arm and leaned heavily against Angel, her hand grazing his chest.

"Thank you, Jerry," she said, but her gaze was on Bobby, a challenging tilt to her chin.

He forced himself to grin. "Yeah, congrats, Angel."

Everyone looked at him like he'd just confessed that he liked to wear women's clothing and kiss guys. He tried to look hurt. "What, you don't believe me? Seriously, I wish you guys many years of happiness. I've already got a sock soaked in piss, so I might as well be knee deep in shit while I'm at it."

Angel sighed as Sofi started yelling a string of curse words in Spanish, her arms flailing about so much that Angel had to duck before he got a sparkling diamond ring imbedded in his temple. Bobby only caught bits and pieces of it, but the main theme was that he had a special room waiting for him in hell. He shrugged, that didn't exactly come as news to him.

"Baby, the kids are sleeping in the other room," Angel said in a rush as he tried to shush her before she reached her usual volume. "Why don't you head on upstairs and call your mother? She's been waiting on this news for a long time, you should call her and let her know."

"We need to start planning," Sofi said, her face still flushed from anger, but a new glint was in her eye. "Big weddings take a lot of planning."

"Well, I don't know if I want … " Angel looked like he was having second thoughts but Sofi didn't notice.

She looked over at Bobby and Jerry like she was sizing them up. "You're going to need more groomsmen. I'm thinking I'll have at least twelve bridesmaids," she said as Angel draped his arm around her shoulders and gently urged her out of the kitchen.

"B-bridesmaids," he sputtered as they disappeared around the corner.

"Hey, Angel, once you're done picking out fucking lace doilies and table settings, we got some important shit to discuss," Bobby called after him.

XxXxXxXxXx

"Is that all of it?" Jerry asked. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally.

"Yeah, that's it. It's enough, though," Bobby said as he picked up his bottle of beer from the dining room table and took a swig, draining the bottle. All three of them were already on their second drink since Bobby had started sharing the details of the phone call.

"You believe him?" Angel leaned in closer, trying to keep his voice low. Jack and the kids were still asleep in the family room, but Jack had stirred a couple of times and Bobby was adamant about keeping him out of this for as long as possible.

"Yeah, I believe him. I think it would be stupid not to," Bobby admitted. "Even if he's lyin', we can't take a chance with Jack. He's a limping target - shit, even Amelia could take him out. I can't let … we can't let anything happen to him."

"Bobby, we won't let anything happen to Jack," Jerry said and Bobby laughed suddenly.

"Right, ain't that what we always said before," he said, practically slamming the bottle on the table.

Jerry looked confused. "Of course that's what we've always said."

"Bobby, what are you getting at?" Angel asked as he rubbed his eyes and sighed.

Bobby shrugged. "Nothing, man. I just … I'm not going to let him down again."

"We should tell him. We can't keep him in the dark about this," Jerry said, glancing over his shoulder in to the family room. His baby brother was sprawled out on the couch while Amelia and Daniela napped in the recliner. He looked vulnerable. Shoot, he always looked vulnerable. That was what made Evelyn adopt him in the first place.

"Jack doesn't need to know," Bobby stated, his glare letting his brothers know it wasn't a decision open for argument.

"It pisses him off when you do that, you know," Jerry sighed.

"Do what?" Bobby asked as he stood up and walked into the kitchen.

"Underestimate him," Jerry said, shaking his head in frustration.

"I ain't underestimating him," Bobby argued as he stepped back into the dining room carrying three unopened bottles of beer. He handed out the drinks and sat back down. "I just don't feel like heaping more shit on his shoulders. Jack's got enough on his plate right now, we don't gotta be adding a psycho killer to the list."

"He ain't gonna be happy when he finds out you lied to him," Angel said.

"Not telling him something ain't the same as lying."

"It's withholding information and it's a bad habit to get into," Jerry pointed out as he leaned back in his chair.

"So says the expert on withholding information. Hand out any bribes lately, Jerry?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"Bobby, do not go there," Angel said as he leaned forward in his chair.

Jerry looked like Bobby had taken a swing at him. "Man, I thought we were past all that."

"We are. Bobby just likes to be an ass." Angel glared at Bobby, a look of disappointment on his face.

Bobby was about to apologize when the doorbell rang.

"Who the hell --" he started as he stood and took a step toward the family room. He froze when he realized the couch was empty, dread pouring over him.

"Shit, Jack …"


	10. Chapter 10

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Bloodhounds On My Trail_ by The Black Angels

**Chapter Ten**

_The bloodhound's out to get me_

_I already feel the bite_

There weren't any gunshots this time.

Bobby was met with silence as he stared at the open, empty doorway. Any number of scenarios were running through his head - none of them good.

The move to get the gun that was tucked into the waistband of his jeans was practically a subconscious one. He methodically ejected, checked, and reloaded the clip of bullets and clicked off the safety in what looked like one fluid, practiced motion.

He spared a quick glance at the recliner in the corner to make sure the kids were still there, huddled together, sleeping, unaware that Uncle Bobby was getting ready to bust some heads.

He hurried to the doorway, staying off to the side to keep from tipping off any possible assailants. There were voices just outside on the porch. He couldn't make out what they were saying and edged closer to the door.

"Bobby Mercer, is that you?" a woman's voice called out and he almost tripped down the step leading onto the enclosed porch.

"Fuck," he muttered as he allowed his momentum to carry him into the room. He'd been found out anyway, no sense in pretending he wasn't there.

The sun was going down and it was hard to see exactly who was out there in the fading light. Jack was leaning against the newly installed window frame, his weight supported on his good leg as he chatted with some lady who was standing opposite him. A plain white box was in her hands. It was tied with a string and Bobby had already surmised that the chances of her concealing an assault rifle in it were pretty slim.

"Bobby, you remember Miss Harriet, right? She lives down the street and --" Bobby knew the minute Jack spotted the gun he was holding. His voice trailed off and his eyes narrowed. He looked pissed, which Bobby supposed he deserved.

"Of course he remembers me." Her smile was warm and he felt really silly standing there, holding a gun, seconds away from telling her to get the fuck away from his little brother or he'd shoot her full of holes.

Yeah, Ma would've been proud.

XxXxXxXxXx

Harriet didn't stick around too much longer. Claimed she had a pot roast she had to get back to, but Bobby wasn't buying it. She didn't let on about the gun, and Bobby couldn't be sure if she'd noticed it or not. But he had a hunch he was going to be the topic of this week's knitting circle, or Tupperware party, or whatever the hell it was the old ladies in this neighborhood did for kicks.

"I'm not a kid," Jack said as he limped through the doorway, holding onto the door jam for support with one hand, the white box balanced in the other.

"I never said you were," Bobby said as he took the box from his brother.

"I can answer the door on my own."

"Never said you couldn't." Bobby shrugged.

"Bullshit, Bobby," Jack said. "You practically waved a gun in the face of an old lady who was bringing us a pie. It's a pie, Bobby. Not a machine gun. Not a bomb. Pie."

"Is it apple?" Bobby asked as he raised the lid and peeked inside.

Jack just stared at Bobby for a second, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. "Unbelievable, man," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he slumped onto the couch.

"I believe there's a rule out there that if you threaten to shoot the lady bringing the pie, then you forfeit the right to have a piece of the pie," Jerry said as he stepped into the room and grabbed the box from Bobby's hands. "Ain't that right, Angel?"

Angel was still seated at the dining room table and took a sip of his beer, a thoughtful look on his face - as though he was actually giving the matter some consideration. "It's actually in The Constitution," he said steadily.

"Looks like you're shit out of luck when it comes to this pie, Bobby," Jerry said, shaking his head sadly. "Shame, too. Miss Harriet bakes a mean apple pie."

XxXxXxXxXx

The room was pretty dark with just the one light on, but Jack liked it that way. He had his guitar out and was quietly strumming it - it was mostly nonsense but he was testing the waters a bit. Well, the waters pretty much sucked at the moment. He kept hitting the wrong notes, making a mess of things. He was about to give up when he sensed that someone was watching him from the doorway.

"What do you want?" he asked as he propped the guitar on the floor against the bed.

"Nothing, just listenin' to the music. That's all," Jerry said with a small smile, his tone quiet and comforting. Jerry had a way of making Jack feel calm, even when he had a shitload of stuff to think about and worry about.

Jack felt his face redden at the thought of anyone hearing him massacring a few simple chords. "Yeah, well …" he started, not sure of what to say.

"It'll come back to you, kiddo." Jerry motioned for Jack to move his feet and clear some space at the end of the bed for him to sit. Jerry leaned back against the wall, his long legs hanging off the edge of the bed. "You've just gotta give it some time."

"It ain't like riding a bike, Jerry." Jack sighed as he grabbed the rubber ball his therapist had given him to exercise with. He squeezed it, the repetitive motion was supposed to strengthen his hand and improve his dexterity. So far, it just seemed like a waste of time.

"Patience is a virtue," Jerry supplied and Jack laughed. "What?" Jerry asked, a look of mock hurt on his face.

"Patience is in short supply around here," Jack observed, tossing the ball against the wall and catching it as it rebounded.

"Not to mention virtue," Bobby said as he came into the room, probably annoyed that someone was having a conversation without him. He took a seat on the floor, up against the foot of the bed.

Jack silently counted to five, not surprised in the least when Angel appeared in the doorway, a haggard look on his face. Sofi was still on the phone with her mother - had been for hours, her voice echoing through the whole top floor of the house. Sofi had even missed dinner; and despite Jerry's protests, Bobby had gleefully claimed her piece of the apple pie for dessert.

Just watching Angel be engaged for one day made Jack decide he would elope when he found the right girl. Angel had aged twenty years in the last five hours and Jack didn't see how anything could be worth that.

"Guys, I think I may be in over my head on this one," Angel said, his shoulders slumped slightly as he jammed his hands into the pockets of his pants and leaned against the wall. He looked a little sick and Jack had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

Bobby laughed loudly enough for the three of them, anyway. "'Told ya so' does not even begin to cover it," he practically cackled. "You're a fucking idiot, man."

Angel opened his mouth to argue, when a loud string of unintelligible Spanish sounded down the hallway, followed by a high-pitched giggle. He groaned and leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling, the voice down the hall the soundtrack to his misery. "I think I might have to agree with you on this one, Bobby."

"So, Jackie," Jerry started, changing the subject, "you planning on sharing what you found with me and Angel or do we gotta depend on Bobby for the details? 'Cause, let me tell you, the man has the storytelling skills of a two-year-old."

Jack stared at him blankly for a minute, confused as to what he was asking. "Huh?"

"The letter," Jerry said slowly, motioning with his hands like he was trying to jog his memory. "From your mother …"

"Oh, that," Jack mumbled, throwing the ball with a little more force than necessary. It bounced hard off the wall and was too fast for him to catch, landing on the other side of the room amidst some random junk he'd left there years ago.

"Yeah, that. Kind of important, don't you think?"

Jack shrugged, running his fingers through his hair. He started to reach toward the end table to open the drawer where he kept his tobacco and rolling papers. Then he remembered - he didn't have any tobacco and rolling papers, thanks to Bobby. He glared at the back of his oldest brother's head, before turning his attention to Jerry.

"Fine," he said as he reached behind him, pulling the letter out of his pocket. He tossed it to Jerry. "Knock yourself out."

Jack watched silently as Jerry read the letter. Bobby was looking over at him, trying to see what his reaction would be. Jack tried to keep his face blank and his hands still, but sometimes Bobby could make him feel like he was being interrogated by the entire Detroit police force.

"Changed your mind, didn't you, Cracker Jack?" Bobby asked, a sly, know-it-all grin on his face.

"Fuck you, man," Jack answered without looking at him.

Bobby laughed, a triumphant look on his face that made Jack roll his eyes. "I knew it."

"Changed your mind about what?" Angel looked confused.

"He didn't know if he wanted to meet his real mom or not."

"Birth mom," Jack corrected him. "Evelyn was my real mom."

"Fine. Jack didn't know if he wanted to meet his _birth_ mom," Bobby repeated.

"Still don't know," Jack said, picking up his guitar. He started to fiddle with the tuning keys to distract himself.

"At least write her a letter," Jerry said as he passed the letter to Angel.

"That's what I said." Bobby pounded on the mattress like he was a judge with a gavel.

Jack took a deep breath and pushed his hair out of his eyes. The whole thing was starting to give him a headache. "Look, I just need time. Can't you guys just give me some time to sort things out?"

"Would you feel better if you found some stuff out about her - more than just the letter?" Jerry asked and Jack shrugged.

"How would we do that? Records are sealed. There isn't a return address." Jack's mind had already run through everything he could think of and came up with nothing.

"We can go to Ma's office," Bobby said suddenly.

Jerry nodded. "They did call a few weeks ago. They've got some of Ma's stuff for us to pick up. Thing she left on her desk. Stuff like that."

"See, Jerry - already thinking of a plan," Bobby said with a grin.

"I was just thinking you could ask some of the people she worked with about --" Jerry started but Bobby cut him off, an excited gleam in his eye.

"We can look around. She had files - gotta be one on Jackie-poo."

"I didn't mean for you guys to do anything illegal," Jerry said with a sigh, but he might as well have been talking to his dog, Marvin, for all the good it did him.

"So you're gonna be like detectives or something?" Angel asked, suddenly more interested in the conversation.

"Worked with Sweet," Bobby said.

"And look how good that turned out," Jack said, fighting the urge to point to his fucked up knee as exhibit A.

"Sweet ain't breathin' is he?"

"So, you want to be like the Hardy Boys or something?" Jack asked, shaking his head, trying to keep from smiling. Bobby would never let him live it down if he knew he was getting kind of excited at the idea of doing something different for a change - even if it did mean breaking into the offices of Child Protective Services. Sure beat physical therapy any day.

"Shit, Jack - at least try for Starsky and Hutch, something a little cooler," Bobby said.

Angel groaned. "More like Scooby and Shaggy, if you ask me."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter has mentions of child abuse.

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _What's the Matter Here_ by The 10,000 Maniacs

**Chapter Eleven**

_That young boy without a name_

_  
Anywhere I'd know his face_

His dingy laces skimmed the floor as his feet dangled above the dull gray linoleum. The chair was hard and orange. He never understood why anyone would make anything such an ugly shade of orange.

 _  
_Instead of people watching, he was feet watching. It was just easier to keep his eyes glued to the floor than to risk making eye contact with the people walking back and forth. One thing was for certain - there were sure a lot of boring, sensible shoes in this place. Seeing the polished leather loafers and high heels made him want to tuck his feet up under himself to hide the holes and dirt of his crappy sneakers.

The weird thing was that even with his head down, he could tell which people looked at him. He could even tell what they were thinking as they glanced his way.

That guy in the brown shoes with the laces thought he was just another punk kid, probably headed to juvie. There was a woman in white sandals who hurried past because she thought he might try to steal her purse. And the bird-like lady who manned the front desk across from where he was sitting thought he was the most pathetic thing she'd ever set eyes on - broken and battered, like an old dog you'd find in the pound, days from being put down.

It was people like her that really pissed him off. He could take the suspicion, no problem; he was even kind of proud of it, figured it proved he wasn't completely worthless. But he was tired of the pity. Especially when the pity didn't do him any good.

He'd seen her before, been stuck in that chair more than once. She'd do this concerned chin-tilt thing and then shake her head sadly, her mouth turned down into a parody of a frown. She'd even offered him candy once, but he'd just stared at her without blinking - kind of hoping he'd creep her out so she'd stop looking at him. It didn't work, so he'd taken to staring at the floor.

His hands were in his lap, still for a change. He had to force himself to leave the bandages alone. He didn't want to draw attention to them so he kept pulling his sleeves down to hide them, but that put pressure on the cuts and hurt like hell, so he had to keep them pushed back past his wrists, practically to his elbows to avoid the worst of the injuries. He hated how white the bandages were, it was like some flashing neon sign pointing down at him. "Hey, come look at the kid who tried to off himself."

Thing was, that wasn't even what happened, not that anyone would believe him. Shit, he wouldn't believe him if he was in their shoes. But it was the truth - he wasn't trying to kill himself. He was trying to get away from that asshole, that asshole who had decided it was high time to show him what it meant to live under his roof.

He'd fought like crazy. Fought harder than he'd ever fought before. Clawing and kicking and punching.

 _But_ … Jack took a deep breath, not ready to let his thoughts go there.

He didn't think he was ever going to let his mind go there - at least not while he was awake. It was bad enough that he got to relive it every night when the lights went out. He'd stripped his throat raw from all the screaming he did during his nightmares. The nurses at the children's hospital told him he screamed nearly every night. He had to take their word for it because he could never really remember it the next day, just that his throat felt like he'd gargled with fire the night before and that he felt so dirty that he was sure there wasn't enough soap and water in the world for him to feel clean again.

He looked down at the healing cuts on his fingers that hadn't needed stitches, fighting the urge to pick at the scabs. His knuckles were still bruised, but they no longer felt like they were broken. Those cuts and bruises proved he didn't just wuss out and lay there. He could at least feel some pride in the fact that he'd fought back, or tried to, anyway.

Somehow … after … well, after what happened, Jack had gotten a hold of a beer bottle and smashed it, holding it in front of him like he'd seen in a movie once, ready to gut the guy if he tried to come near him again. Shit, ready to gut him even if he didn't come near him again. The asshole didn't let it scare him, though, and he fucking smiled.

Just thinking about that smile made Jack clench his hand, imagining that he was holding the broken bottle again and that he didn't screw it up this time. But he did screw it up - just like he screwed everything up.

The guy outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds and easily overpowered him. Jack had gotten in a couple of good swipes with the bottle, but it wasn't long before the asshole grabbed it from him and started slashing at Jack with it. Jack had covered his face with his arms as he screamed for help.

He was on the verge of passing out and covered in blood by the time the police showed up. The asshole - his foster father - made up some lie about finding Jack like that. That Jack was depressed and talked about killing himself, that he had tried to stop him but got cut for his troubles.

Jack lightly ran his fingers over the bandages that covered his right arm from wrist to elbow. There were three slashes on that arm. The doctor must have thought he had a really bad aim if he actually bought that whole suicide story.

But regardless of whether or not the doc believed him, he made him talk to a shrink - some guy who constantly clicked his pen and asked stupid questions about his feelings and shit like that. And they kept him on a suicide watch like he was going to pop some pills and jump out the window the minute their backs were turned.

The exam they forced him to get at least proved the part of his story he didn't want to tell. The part he needed to forget. The cops told him that he had to talk - that he had to tell them what happened if he wanted to put the creep away. He couldn't help but thinking that if he didn't give them anything to write down in their little notebooks, then it didn't really happen. The cops eventually gave up anyway - just like everyone gave up.

A pair of white sneakers entered his line of sight and stopped instead of continuing past him. He sighed and rolled his eyes. He knew who those sneakers belonged to. Moron thought they made him look cool and relatable to the kids he worked with. Jack just thought they made him look like a tool because he always wore black socks with them.

His name was Richard - Jack always liked to shorten it to "Dick" whenever he got the chance - and he was Jack's social worker. The third one he'd been assigned since entering the system six years ago when he was five. Jack wouldn't have been surprised if he was soon introduced to social worker number four before the day was over.

Richard had visited him the hospital a couple of times and Jack pretended to be asleep because he really didn't feel like dealing with him. One day, out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw just how stressed Richard was over him - he had his file, a thick folder overstuffed with God knows what, and he was reading over it and mumbling to himself, obviously not liking what he saw. Jack figured he was making life pretty difficult for poor old Dick and Dick had no clue what to do with him anymore.

Another pair of shoes joined the white sneakers - some lady's shoes. A pair of soft looking loafers that looked really comfortable and well loved. Like they were her favorite pair.

Jack still didn't bother to look up.

"Jack," his social worker said.

"Dick," he said flatly. He tried not to grin when the lady chuckled.

Richard sighed, like he always did. Something about Jack made the guy really tired, but Jack didn't care. He was tired of being moved around, being told things were going to be taken care of, that someone would come along to adopt him if only he'd straighten out his attitude. Tired of being put in situations where he had to defend himself. Tired of being forgotten. Just plain tired.

"Evelyn, are you sure you want to do this?" Richard asked the woman.

"Yes, _Dick_ , I'm sure." Jack could hear the smile in her voice without even looking at her.

Richard sighed again. "Evelyn, you're supposed to find placements for them, not take them home with you."

She took a step closer to Jack and stood there, her hands folded in front of her. She slowly reached out, like she was going to touch him, but he flinched, trying to avoid her. He heard her take in a deep breath and she dropped her hand.

"Jack," she said softly and he finally raised his head. She was older than Richard, maybe in her fifties or so. She had soft, curly hair that was more gray than blonde and she had lines around her eyes, like she smiled a lot.

He had to force himself to keep his face blank, to look tough even though it felt like butterflies were having a boxing match in his stomach. There was something different about her - something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Jack," she repeated with a smile, "are you ready to go home?"

XxXxXxXxXx

"Fuck off," Jack said suddenly.

"Excuse me?" Bobby said, looking over at his brother like he'd suddenly sprouted two heads.

"Huh?" Jack said, blinking slowly, as though he was coming out of a trance. He was leaning forward in his chair, the same ugly chair from when he was a kid. His hands were gripping the hard plastic of the seat, the edges digging into the palms of his hands.

The overhead fluorescent lights were flickering behind plastic coverings that hadn't seen this side of white since the seventies. Everything in the lobby looked gray - well, everything except for those goddamn orange chairs.

"You just told me to fuck off," Bobby said slowly.

"I did?"

"Yeah, you did. You feelin' okay, Cracker Jack? You look a little pale. You ain't gonna faint are you, fairy?" Leave it to Bobby to turn brotherly concern into an insult.

"I'm fine." He took a deep breath and shook his head, glancing down at the floor in front of him, half-expecting to see Evelyn standing there in her well-worn shoes. "I was just remembering when I met Ma for the first time."

"And you told her to fuck off?" Bobby asked, sitting up in his chair, an incredulous look on his face.

Jack felt his face redden as he ran his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, I did."

"You told, and I quote, 'The sweetest woman in the goddamn world' to fuck off?" Bobby was grinning like mad.

"It wasn't one of my finer moments," Jack admitted, matching Bobby's grin. His brother settled back in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, not caring that he was in the way of the people walking by. In Bobby's world, he got out of the way for no one.

"You gotta take a piss or something?" Bobby asked suddenly and Jack stared at him for a second.

"What?"

Bobby pointed at Jack's leg, the one he hadn't realized was bouncing a mile a minute, like a nervous five year old waiting to get his father's belt for misbehaving. "Shit, Jerry's dog is the picture of calm compared to you. Chill the fuck out."

Jack forced his leg to stop shaking and loosened his grip on the chair as he leaned back in his seat, keeping his face blank. "I'm plenty calm."

Bobby laughed, tilting his chair back on two legs. "Man, you have the worst poker face in the world."

Jack just rolled his eyes and looked around, taking in the familiar surroundings - suddenly ten years felt like ten minutes and everything was exactly as he remembered it. He hadn't stepped foot in the offices of Child Protective Services since the day he'd been released from the hospital and was placed in Evelyn's care, but he could tell you exactly what the office behind the first door looked like - right down to the gouge in the front of the desk where some kid had kicked it.

"It's this place. Doesn't this place give you the creeps?"

Bobby didn't answer, but rather let his gaze followed the path of a woman who stepped into the reception area from the offices in the back. She was older and heavier, but there was no mistaking who she was. She took a seat at the desk across from the chairs lining the wall and Jack had to force himself to keep his eyes level, to not become that defeated eleven year old again who stared at the floor for hours on end.

"I'll tell you something around here that gives me the creeps," Bobby said under his breath as he nodded inconspicuously toward the bird lady.

"Tell me about it," Jack whispered back. "She ever offer you candy?"

"Man, don't ever take candy from strange women. Didn't Ma ever teach you that?"

The receptionist nodded in their direction, her nose bobbing like pinched beak. "Boys," she said in her shrill voice that was like fingernails down a chalkboard, "Mr. Delaney will be out to speak with you in a moment."

Jack groaned and leaned his head back against the wall. "Fuck."

XxXxXxXxXx

"So that guy was your case worker?" Bobby asked as he glanced up and down the hallway before shutting the door.

"Yeah, Mom wanted to get him fired," Jack explained as he limped over to an empty chair and sat down.

"Instead he got promoted."

"Naturally."

"Fuckin' system," Bobby muttered as he started to look around the room, sitting the empty box Evelyn's boss had given to him on the desk.

It was their mother's office and the only thing that had changed about it since the day she died was the thin layer of dust coating everything. Cutbacks and a reduction in government funding meant that Evelyn's position hadn't been filled yet and might not ever be. For once, the system was working in their favor, and they could go through her things without prying eyes watching their every move.

There was stuff all over the desk - mostly pictures. Some books were stacked here and there, the titles were things like _Bunnicula_ and _Super Fudge_ and Bobby figured Evelyn kept them around to keep the kids she saw at work occupied and distracted as she tried to find a future for them. There was a basket in the corner overflowing with toys - dolls, stuffed animals, trucks - you name it. There was even an old Game Boy sitting on top of some battered _Magic Treehouse_ books and Bobby quickly snatched that up - he'd pass the rest of the kid stuff off to one of his mom's coworkers, but the video game was coming home with him.

He tossed the box to Jack without warning, who sat and watched it fall on the ground next to his feet. Sighing, Jack reached over to pick it up.

"Jackie, grab her stuff while I check out the files." Bobby made his way over to the filing cabinet, pulling out his set of lock picks from the pocket of his jeans. He hadn't used them in years, not since his last stint in prison and he was a bit out of practice. Granted, the flimsy lock on a filing cabinet was nothing compared to some of the things he'd managed to break into in his wilder days.

There was a computer on the desk and he hoped like hell he wasn't going to have to figure out a way to find the information they needed on it. Worse came to worse, they'd smuggle the damn thing out of the building because there was no way in hell he'd be able to figure out how to turn the stupid thing on, much less locate a file on it.

He had faith in his mother, though. They may not have been related by blood, but he had inherited her mistrust of technology. Even if she was forced to enter every bit of information she had into that contraption, he'd bet his life that she kept a paper copy of everything.

Picking the lock took no time at all and he soon had Jack's thick file in his hands. Sitting in a chair that was in the corner, he started paging through it, stopping suddenly when he came upon some pictures. His hands shook as he picked up one of them.

"Find something?" Jack said and Bobby almost dropped everything he was holding. He looked at his brother who was all the way on the other side of the room - opening desk drawers and pulling out anything that looked important or sentimental.

Bobby cleared his throat. "Not yet," he said, hastily turning the picture over and shoving it back into the file.

He couldn't stop seeing the image, though. Every bruise and cut was burned onto his memory. The vacant blue eyes that stared back from the photograph were somehow even worse than the injuries themselves. Like the kid could recover from some cuts and bruises, but there were some injuries that you could never recover from.

It was Jack, right around the time he'd come to live with them. Hell, it must have been just at that time because Bobby recognized the cuts down his arms. Evelyn had asked him to come home to help out, explaining that her new foster son was a bit of a handful and she thought Bobby could get through to him. Bobby remembered thinking that the kid must be the most fucked up person imaginable if Evelyn had to settle on him to help out.

He made a fist, wishing he had the bastard in front of him who'd violated his baby brother. Part of him was hoping Sweet's daddy would show up on his doorstep, just so that he'd have an excuse to beat the shit out of someone.

Flipping to the back of the file, he found the pages he needed and he slipped them into his pocket. He was locking up the filing cabinet when Jack startled him again.

"Hey," Jack said as he held up a box, "she never opened it."

Jack looked really disappointed and Bobby couldn't help but grin. "What the fuck is that?"

"I gave it to her for Christmas one year," Jack explained, opening the box and pulling out the ugly brown figurine that was inside of it. Bobby stepped over to the desk and picked up the now empty box, reading the description on the side.

"You gave Ma a Chia Pet?" Bobby snorted, dropping the carton in the trash can sitting on the floor. He was shaking his head as he picked up the heavy box that Jack had packed up . "Lame, man, really lame."

"I was thirteen," Jack offered as an explanation, following Bobby to the door.

"I really should have stuck around more to show you the ropes - even Angel would know that's a cheap ass gift."

"Chia Pets were cool back then," Jack argued.

Bobby stopped just before opening the door and turned around, the expression on his face dead serious as he looked his brother in the eye.

"Chia Pets were never cool, Jack. Never."


	12. Chapter 12

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Flowers on the Wall_ by The Statler Brothers

**Chapter Twelve**

_Smoking cigarettes and watchin' Captain Kangaroo_

_  
Now don't tell me I've nothin' to do_

"California," Jack said, staring down at the paper his brother handed him once they got into the house. For some reason, he thought the answer to the puzzle would be more than a couple of innocent looking words typed on a sheet of white paper. As it was, he wasn't surprised to find the answer lay thousands of miles across the country. That was just par for the course.

"That was quick," Angel said as he appeared at the top of the stairs. He disappeared for a minute and reappeared, tugging on a shirt as he made his way down the flight of steps.

Bobby flopped down on the couch next to Jack. "Yeah, cleaned out her desk, checked her files. Found what we needed."

"Cops on your tail?" Angel asked with a grin.

"Yeah, the S.W.A.T. team is outside right now. They're after Jackiepoo's Chia Pet."

Angel laughed. "His what?"

"Nothing." Jack rolled his eyes and propped his leg up on the coffee table.

"So what did you guys find?"

"Mommy Jack lives in sunny California. Her name is …" Bobby glanced over Jack's shoulder to read the sheet of paper he was holding, "Susan Vaughn. That's all we got."

"California's lookin' pretty good right about now," Angel said as he sat on the empty end of the coffee table. Hanging his head, he sighed heavily and Bobby laughed.

"Long day?" Jack asked.

"And getting longer," Angel grumbled. As if on cue, Sofi appeared at the top of the stairs.

"There you are," she said brightly. "You both disappeared this morning before I had a chance to talk to Jack."

Jack felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up at the mention of his name. She sounded cheerful - too cheerful - and a big smile was plastered across her face. Something was up and he felt apprehension wash over him.

She practically skipped down the stairs and bounced her way over to the couch, forcing her way into the meager cushion space between Jack and Bobby. Jack moved over to make room, while Bobby kept his elbow firmly planted in her side.

The mask she was wearing dropped for a second and her eyes grew cold as she glared over her shoulder at Bobby, who wasn't budging an inch. She scooted further into him and flipped her hair, smacking him in the face.

The smile was firmly back in place when she turned her attention back to Jack. He was trying not to laugh as Bobby made sputtering noises as he pulled strands of long black hair out of his mouth.

"Your bitch gave me a hairball, Angel."

Her eyes narrowed but she took a deep breath and forced an even bigger smile, if that was possible. Jack could see her gums and probably could count her cavities if he wanted to. She tilted her head and reached out, touching his arm. He tried to move further back in his seat without making it too obvious, but the floor was really the only available space left to escape to.

"Jack," she said softly, almost like she was purring. "I need a favor – muy pequeño, very small, I promise."

"Uh …" he started, not really sure what to say.

"I need help," she said and Bobby snorted a laugh.

She tossed her hair again, catching Bobby dead center in his face. "My sister, Isabella, is going to be my maid of honor, only she is in Puerto Rico and can't be here for the planning. And Angel isn't much help."

Jack shot a glance at Angel, who shrugged and muttered, "Sorry, man."

"And I figured that since you are Angel's best man …"

Well, that was news to him.

"Uh, yeah, Jackie - wanna be my best man?" Angel asked.

"Sure, whatever …" Jack started, but was drowned out by a sudden outburst from Sofi.

"You didn't ask him yet?" she practically shouted, forgetting for a second that she was trying to attract the Mercer boys with honey instead of her usual vinegar. "You're not taking this seriously."

"Baby, I forgot. A lot has been going on."

"Yeah, a lot of you sitting on your ass and ignoring me."

"I've tried. It's just --" Sofi held her hand up, cutting him off - it was a swift, well practiced move. Angel's shoulders slumped in defeat and Bobby started to shake his head.

"This is seriously the most fucked up relationship I've ever seen."

"Bobby, don't start in on that now," Angel sighed.

"Yeah, Bobby, stay out of things that don't concern you," she agreed, keeping her back to the oldest Mercer.

"It concerns me when you try to turn my baby brother into a fucking bridesmaid." Bobby shifted in his seat, making sure his elbow plowed deeper into her back.

Sofi dug her heel into the carpet and braced herself as Bobby tried to surreptitiously force her onto the floor. "As I was saying," she said through gritted teeth, "I need some help and I thought I'd ask you seeing as how you are the only member of this family with an ounce of creativity."

"She's sayin' you're a fairy, Jack," Bobby said dryly.

"I did not say that," she said but then turned her gaze on Jack and bit her lip. "But if you are, I have no problem with that. My brother is gay; you know you might --"

"Ugh," Jack groaned and sunk lower in his seat, hoping to disappear or at least wake up. This whole conversation was starting to rival some of his worst nightmares. "I am not gay. How many times do I have to say it?"

"Apparently a couple more. Real fucking nice, La Vida Loca, you ask a favor and insult the kid at the same time." Bobby was shaking his head in mock disappointment.

"¿Por què no te callas, pendejo?" she shot back.

Bobby grunted. "Poor Kay, my ass."

"Exactly," Sofi said triumphantly and turned back to Jack.

He held his hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine, whatever. I'll do it."

"Oh, gracias, Jack," she said, squealing with delight as she leaned over and gave him a sudden kiss on the cheek before sprinting back up the stairs.

"Shit," Jack said, absentmindedly rubbing his cheek, "what the hell did I just agree to?"

Bobby stood up and clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Good luck, Cracker Jack. It's been nice knowin' ya."

"You're not going to leave me here with --" Jack shuddered.

Angel made of show of looking at his watch. "Damn, how did it get so late? I got, uh, stuff I need to do."

"Stuff?" Jack repeated, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, stuff," Angel replied. "You remember, Bobby? You were gonna help me with that stuff."

"Oh, shit – yeah, I almost forgot."

"Nice, guys. Way to abandon me." Jack crossed his arms and glared at his older brothers.

"Ah, I'd love to stick around and help you pick out color schemes and gay shit like that – but you know how Angel can get when it comes to his stuff," Bobby said with a laugh.

XxXxXxXxX

Jerry entered the house and was surprised to find his youngest brother passed out on the couch, surrounded by bridal magazines and all sorts of other bits and pieces of crap. Jerry wasn't exactly sure what all of it was – but one thing was for certain, there was a shit load of pink involved. Nothing put fear in a man's heart quite like the sight of pink lace.

Sofi was on the floor, paging through some big notebook-like thing, stopping every couple of pages to write something down. She didn't notice him and he managed to slip by without disturbing either of them.

He wandered through the house until he found his two other brothers, sitting outside on the tree stump, drinking a couple of beers and apparently not doing a whole lot else.

"What is with the pink pow-wow in the family room?" Jerry asked as he stepped through the backdoor.

"Sofi christened Jack an honorary bridesmaid," Bobby started to explain.

"So Bobby and me got the hell out of Dodge before we got roped into trying on flower girl dresses or some shit like that," Angel finished for him.

Bobby reached down – there was a six-pack on the ground next to his feet and he grabbed one of the remaining bottles and tossed it to Jerry.

"What did you find out?" Bobby asked, his expression somber as he changed the topic.

Jerry sighed and twisted off the cap to the beer. He'd spent the better part of the morning talking to Evan, grilling him for any information he could think of. Evan used to work with him in construction, back before Sweet started to control half of Detroit. Lately, they'd been working together as Jerry tried to put his plans for luxury condos back into motion. Leave it to life to rear its ugly head just as things were getting back on track.

At the mention of the name Roy Sweet, Evan had blanched and turned twitchy and panicked. Evan filled him in on what he knew – none of it good.

"You ain't gonna like it," Jerry said.

"Try me."

"Victor's daddy is a hundred times worse –"

Bobby snorted as he took a sip of his drink. "Right."

Jerry ignored him and started to pace. "He's a hundred times worse than his son. Detroit is small potatoes to this guy – he's one of the baddest of the bad in New York. We're not talking fire bombings, Bobby. We're talking people cut up into little pieces and never found again. We're talking whole families wiped out. We gotta take this serious."

"Never said we weren't, Jerry," Angel said, his face hard as he took in the information.

"There's more." Jerry hesitated, debating whether or not he should continue. This next little piece was going to set Bobby off, and when Bobby was angry, there was no telling what would happen.

"Well, spill it. We ain't got all day, Jer," Bobby said impatiently.

Figuring it was best to just rip the bandage off a wound quickly, Jerry sighed and reached into his back pocket. He tossed the thick envelope he'd been hiding to Bobby, who easily caught it one-handed.

Bobby opened it and pulled out the contents. A thick stack of photographs fanned out in front of him.

"Fuck," he ground out between clenched teeth.

"Things just got a whole lot worse," Angel said steadily, looking to the grey sky as he finished his beer.

XxXxXxXxX

Usually when someone 'saw red', it was a figure of speech. But not for Bobby Mercer. Everything in his line of sight was bathed in angry crimson. He shook – not from fear but from anger. It took all his willpower to not tear each picture into tiny shreds.

"Found that in my car after I got through meeting with Evan. It was lying on the driver's seat and the car was still locked. Creeped me the fuck out, Bobby," Jerry explained, his voice low and his eyes worried.

Someone was watching them. More exact – someone was watching Jack. Picture after picture of his baby brother – on the way to physical therapy with Bobby driving, getting out of the car, walking slowly into the hospital, leaving it – he could make a fucking flip book out of the typical Jack Mercer day if he wanted to. Shit, there were even some pictures _inside_ the therapy room as Jack worked out with his therapist.

Bobby shoved one of the pictures at Jerry. "He was fucking inside the hospital."

"They're tryin' to get us riled up – they're tryin' to get you riled up, Bobby," Jerry said as he grabbed the picture and handed it to Angel, who looked equally pissed as he took in the scene.

"Yeah, well, it's fucking working."

"Why bother with pictures?" Angel asked. "Why not just take him out?"

"Because this is a game to this guy. Like I said – small potatoes; he's toying with us." Jerry started to pace again. "He's going to keep us on edge for as long as he can."

Bobby was still going through the pictures, when he came upon a set that were of Jack sitting on the porch steps out front. Bobby fought the urge to start looking around the property, overturning stones and peering around corners. The bastard wanted them to think there were people hiding in the bushes and he wasn't about to let the asshole drive him into paranoia.

"What the…?" Bobby took a closer look at the pictures. Jack had been outside for a while in a couple of them. Being cooped up all day was driving him stir crazy and he liked to sit outside with a book now that it wasn't quite subzero weather anymore. Of course, he'd been reading the same damn book for weeks now and had barely made a dent in it.

In one of the pictures, some teenage guy was talking to Jack. Bobby recognized him from a couple of the pick-up games he'd managed to take part in over the winter. He was a good, solid player – not the hardest hitter in the world, but that was skill that only came with practice. In one of the pictures, Jack was handing over what looked like a couple of bills. Bobby's hand tightened on that picture, any number of possibilities running through his head. Jack had been clean for years, but he wouldn't be the first person to turn to drugs because of an injury.

There were some more shots of Jack just sitting there, staring off into space, the book lying on the step next to him. The guy came back and was handing something over, something Bobby couldn't quite make out. He shuffled to the next picture and ground out a curse.

"Fuck that little shit. I'm going to kill him," he said suddenly and Jerry stopped pacing, a look of alarm on his face.

"What is it, Bobby?" Angel asked, looking over his older brother's shoulder.

"That little fuck is smoking again." Bobby shoved the picture at Angel who started to laugh. Jack had a familiar pack of red Marlboros resting on top of his book and a cigarette dangling from his mouth, a telltale trail of smoke hanging in the air around him.

"It ain't funny," Bobby argued and Jerry sighed heavily.

"Can we focus on the bigger picture here for a second? Please."

"We need a plan," Angel said. "A real plan for a change."

"What we need to do is tell Jack," Jerry reasoned and Bobby started to shake his head.

"No - that's nonnegotiable," he said, his voice flat and his eyes hard as he silently challenged his brother to argue with him.

Jerry kicked at the ground, sending a rock skidding into a nearby tree. "Well, what do you suggest we do?" he asked angrily. "He's gonna realize somethin' is up. He ain't stupid."

Bobby looked at Jerry, the lines growing deeper between his eyes as his mind raced, trying to come up with something. He always did this shit better on the fly, when he didn't have time to think things through, let alone worry he was making a wrong decision. His brothers would never admit it, but instinct had gotten them out of more scrapes than careful, calculated planning.

Suddenly, an idea came to him and a sly smile spread slowly across his face.

Angel groaned and Jerry's shoulders slumped. "No, man …" he started to protest.

Bobby tossed the beer bottle on the ground and stood up, throwing an arm around his brother's shoulders. "We're wingin' it, Jerry."


	13. Chapter 13

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Into the Great Wide Open_ by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

**Chapter Thirteen**

_Out in the great wide open_

_A rebel without a clue_

Jack wasn't sure how it came to pass that he was sitting at a bar in a Chicago strip club, nursing a glass of Jack Daniels that he had to practically beg the bartender to give him in the first place. Not to mention the fact that he was now covered in glitter and cheap perfume and had been called cute so many times that he'd lost count.

It was certainly not what he'd had planned for the day when he woke up to the sound of Bobby banging on his door.

XxXxXxXxXx

"Come on, Jack – we need to be on the road in," Bobby checked his watch, "twenty minutes."

"What?" Jack mumbled, squinting as Bobby opened the curtains, flooding the room with early morning sunlight. He pushed himself up into a sitting position against the headboard, confused and disoriented. "What?" he repeated.

"We're going on a road trip – get your shit together."

Jack looked over at his alarm clock and groaned. " _You're_ going on a road trip," he said through a yawn. "I'm going back to bed."

"You can get your beauty sleep in the car. It ain't like it's the break of fucking dawn, anyway - most normal people are awake. Now get up and move your ass." Bobby started kicking stuff around on the floor – Jack had a habit of just dropping stuff when he was through with it and he'd accumulated quite a pile of crap in the months since coming back home. Buried under his leg brace and some dirty clothes, Bobby found what he was looking for – Jack's duffle bag. He tossed it on the bed and headed for the door.

"Fill that. I'm not sure how long we'll be gone," Bobby ordered as he headed down the hallway for his own room.

"I don't even know where the fuck we're going," Jack called after him but his only answer was the sound of a bedroom door closing. "Fuck it," Jack grumbled, pushing the bag onto the floor and settling back into bed, punching his pillow back into the shape he preferred.

"Don't even think about going back to sleep, princess."

Even though Bobby couldn't see Jack flip the bird at the door, it still gave him a small measure of satisfaction to do it.

XxXxXxXxXx

"I don't care about your bar, Bobby." Jack was leaning against the window. He'd rolled up his leather jacket to make a pillow, but it was uncomfortable as hell. He should have brought a pillow along, but then he would have felt like a two year old with his blanket trailing behind him as he trudged to the car in the middle of the morning.

"It's a club, not a bar." He noticed Bobby's hand tightened on the steering wheel and he made a mental note to call it a bar as often as possible.

"Whatever," he sighed.

"I've been away too long and I've got shit to take care of. Should just take a day or two. Beats physical therapy, at least," Bobby reasoned and Jack shrugged. "It was either you tag along or you stay at home with Angel and Bridezilla. She wasn't gonna let up with all that wedding crap. You know that, right?" Bobby asked with an amused grin.

His brothers all found the wedding stuff hilarious. Jack just couldn't find a way out of it and figured it was easier to give in to her. Leave it to Bobby to drag him to another state to escape Sofi and her wedding plans.

"She'll just have more stuff for me to look at when we get home," Jack said as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Front seats were not made for sleeping – but he didn't want to sit in the back and run the risk of Bobby bombarding him with fairy and princess jokes about being chauffeured. Bobby would argue that he wasn't that transparent, but Jack could practically write the jokes for him at this point.

"We're gonna have to drive straight to California and keep going until we hit the ocean if we're gonna escape that wedding," Jack said dryly.

"Don't think that hasn't crossed my mind. Angel is setting us all up for many years of misery and pain."

"She isn't that bad," Jack said, suddenly feeling a little guilty.

Bobby glanced casually in the rear view mirror as he passed the car in front of them, swerving quickly back into their lane, barely missing an oncoming car. "Right," he nodded, "we're not losing a brother, we're gaining a headache."

XxXxXxXxXx

Bobby pulled into an empty spot right in front of the club. The spots weren't that big and the front of his car hung over about a foot into the one in front of it. It was still early, way too early for anyone to think about strippers at any rate, so it was fine where it was for the time being.

Bobby reached over and shook Jack awake. "Rise and shine, sweetheart. We're here."

Jack looked out the window and frowned at the sign that read "Bombshells". "Thought Ma said this place was called The Foxy Hole?" He grinned just saying it, remembering that he and Evelyn had a good laugh when she'd told him the name. Bobby and subtlety didn't exactly go hand in hand.

Bobby opened his door and pulled himself up out of the car. Jack swore he heard his older brother's knees creak as he moved and he was about to make a joke, but stopped himself. Looking down at his own leg, stretched out as far as he could in the front seat, he realized he really didn't have any room to talk. Reaching behind him, he grabbed his cane from the floor in the back and maneuvered himself onto the sidewalk, biting back a curse as pain radiated from his knee. It always took him a couple of steps to get used to the pain.

Bobby stepped up to the front door and opened it, waiting for Jack to catch up. "Ma convinced me to go with something a little less …"

"Obvious," Jack supplied for him.

"Well, I was gonna say tacky."

"She was right."

"She was always right," Bobby said with a grin.

XxXxXxXxXx

The place was a lot nicer than Jack expected it to be and he felt a little out of place in his torn jeans and leather jacket. The walls were covered in rich, dark colors and the lighting was low, but in a classy way, not a trashy one. A bar ran the length one side of the room and was made out of a nice, polished wood. Round tables and some booths were scattered throughout the room and a long stage divided everything down the middle – the requisite pole located near the center of the mirrored runway.

The club was empty but there was music playing – some techno crap that rivaled elevator music, but was at least playing low enough that Jack could ignore it. He was thirsty and made his way over to the bar, hoping to get a drink from the woman tending it.

He sat down on a red leather stool and Bobby stepped up next to him, bracing his hands on the brass railing that ran around the perimeter of the bar. "Only milk for my little sister, Remy. I mean it. He's on medication and the doctor was very specific."

The woman – who Jack assumed was named Remy - was standing behind the bar, moving things around, checking the levels of the booze and straightening up. She kept her back to them as she started to polish some glasses. "Mercer, quit bossing everyone around," she drawled, shaking her head, tossing her long brown hair over her shoulder.

Bobby grinned and leaned in closer. "Remilee, you know I love you babe, but I am the boss."

Remy turned around and placed her hand on her hip. "That's sexual harassment, boss."

"And you love it. Plus - if you don't want to be sexually harassed, don't work in a fucking strip club."

"It's good to know that four months away from this place didn't change you one bit. Still an asshole."

Bobby put his hand to his chest, covering his heart as he wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. "You kept track. You missed me, didn't you?"

She rolled her eyes and tossed the rag onto the counter and began polishing the already gleaming wood. She was looking down, but Jack could tell she was trying to hide a smile.

"Right, I missed you like an old guy misses a boil he's had removed from his butt. It takes a while to figure out what's changed, then you realize it's just that pain in your ass that's finally gone."

Jack snorted a laugh and Bobby glared at him. Remy looked up, met Jack's gaze and smiled. She was pretty and there was obviously something between her and Bobby. He wondered if either of them realized it.

"Who's the kid?"

Jack opened his mouth to protest the kid comment, but Bobby cut him off.

"My little brother Jack. Treat him right – but no alcohol."

Jack sighed. "That's just a suggestion on the bottle …"

"Don't fuckin' care, Jack." Bobby pushed away from the bar, effectively ending any further argument. "Shepard around?" he asked and Remy pointed to the door in the back corner.

"Office."

Bobby nodded and walked away without another word. Once he left, Jack turned his attention back to the bartender.

"So, what'll it be, Bobby's little brother?" she asked.

"Whiskey."

The corner of her mouth quirked up as she picked up a glass and planted it firmly on the bar in front of Jack. The bottle of Jack Daniels was an arm's length away and she reached over and grabbed it without breaking eye contact with him.

"Never thought I'd see the day that Bobby Mercer would be over protective of anyone," she said, shaking her head as she filled the glass.

Jack grinned. "Yeah, well if it can involve yelling and complaining, then he's all over it."

Remy held up the glass, the amber liquid catching the light. She cocked her head slightly as she raised an eyebrow and gave him a look that made him feel like he was being interrogated. "This ain't gonna fuck with your recovery or anything, is it? He'd can my ass if I killed his little brother."

"One drink isn't gonna kill me," he promised as he reached up and took the glass from her. He took a sip, sighing as the whiskey burned a path down his throat. He ordered it more to piss off Bobby, but now he was thinking a drink was just what he'd been missing these last couple of months. Well, that and a regular supply of cigarettes.

"So how is it that someone so cute wound up being brothers with that Neanderthal?" she asked, grabbing a second glass and pouring herself a drink.

"Adopted," Jack offered as explanation, trying to ignore the cute part of her question.

She looked at Jack for a second, her brow furrowing thoughtfully. "Huh," she said, shaking her head, "he never said a word."

"Bobby doesn't like to share," Jack explained, knowing all too well how closed off his brother could be about things. He was an enigma to his family, he couldn't imagine what he was like with his co-workers and friends - though Jack had a hard time picturing him with any friends at all.

"He didn't even tell us why he had to leave," Remy continued as she started placing things on the bar, cleaning as she went. "He just got a call one day and split."

Jack shook his head and smiled. "Sounds like Bobby. He has a habit of disappearing."

"Well, it was a first for us. He put his assistant, Tim, in charge and it was rough for a couple of weeks as he tried to get a hang of it. Shepard's a good guy, but he's a bit old school and not used to running things. Claims he was a big shot gang leader back in the day, but running a gang isn't exactly like running a business."

She stopped and looked at Jack, who had grabbed a cocktail stirrer from a container she'd placed on the bar. He was tying it into intricate knots and not paying an ounce of attention to her. "I'm boring you with this shit, aren't I?" she asked and he shrugged, a crooked grin on his face.

Grabbing her glass, she raised her arm and took a sip and Jack noticed what looked like some ink on her arm as her sleeve moved. "Hey, is that a tattoo?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's a gun. It's symbolic," she explained as she raised her sleeve to give him a better look.

"Symbolic of what?" he asked as he leaned in closer to see the detailing.

"A gun." She winked as she lowered her sleeve and picked her drink back up.

"Naturally," he laughed as he grabbed another stirrer and started to twist it around the one he'd already tied in knots.

A door behind the stage suddenly opened up and an older guy walked onto the club floor, carrying a clipboard and whistling to himself.

"Hey, Curly," Remy called in greeting and the guy raised his hand in a half-assed wave.

"Hey, Remy."

"What's up?"

"Auditions," he offered and Remy groaned.

"Problem?" Jack asked, noting the change in her mood.

"Yeah, I hate auditions."

"Why?"

"You'll see."


	14. Chapter 14

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Pour Some Sugar on Me_ by Def Leppard

**Chapter Fourteen**

_Lookin' like a tramp, like a video vamp_

_Demolition woman, can I be your man?_

There was whiskey in his glass and a woman on his lap. Jack was finally feeling like himself for the first time in a long time.

He shifted in his seat; his leg banged against the table and he tried unsuccessfully to hide his wince as pain shot through his knee. A worried expression flashed across the face of the girl who had claimed that his lap was the only place left to sit, despite the fact that there were only maybe half a dozen people in the whole bar and chairs everywhere. He wasn't about to argue with her, shot up leg or not. "I'm not hurting you, am I?" she asked.

He grinned despite the pain. "Not at all," he promised and she flashed a blinding smile that made her look really cute. She was a tiny little thing who claimed to be named Muffin. He tried not to laugh at that but almost lost it when her friend and dance partner introduced herself as Cupcake. They were both dressed in a sort of mod fashion that fit with their strange Charlie's Angels routine that ended with that guy named Curly awkwardly clearing his throat and calling for the next act. The lone person clapping in the back corner was like the last nail being hammered into the coffin of their stripping careers.

The third member of their group, this one with bright pink hair and a more delicate air about her, approached the table, carrying three drinks that matched her hair almost perfectly. He wasn't surprised to see the umbrellas dangling off the rim of the glasses, but he was surprised when Cupcake pushed her drink away. "Sorry, sweetie, I'm driving. Remember?"

"Right, I forgot," the new one said and Jack wasn't expecting to hear that clipped, British accent when she spoke. The whole day was getting weirder by the second.

"So," Jack said, "we've got Muffin and Cupcake. Let me guess - Cornbread?"

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "It's Lizzy."

"Just Lizzy?" he asked.

"Just Lizzy," she assured him as she pulled a chair over to the table and sat down, letting her gaze blatantly roam over him. She turned her attention to her friends and raised an eyebrow.

"His name is Jack," Cupcake explained, brushing her pin straight bangs out of her eyes.

"He's cute," Lizzy said, eyeing him over the rim of her glass as she took a sip.

"He's a singer." Muffin practically sighed as she ran her fingers through his hair.

"Um, guitarist actually," he said, clearing his throat. "Though I do sing on a couple …" he trailed off when he realized no one was really listening.

"A rock star," Lizzy grinned, leaning in closer, the paper umbrella from her drink twirling lazily her fingers.

"An injured rock star," Muffin supplied with a pout and Jack picked up his drink to take a sip, trying to stifle a laugh. He wasn't really lying to Bobby when he bragged about all the women he'd been with - he may have exaggerated it a little, but it wasn't a lie. Shit, it wasn't hard - just flash a grin and mention music and the chicks were all over him. He'd kind of forgotten what it was like after being holed up on his mother's couch for what felt like forever, recuperating and bored out of his mind.

"Aw, you poor thing," Lizzy reached out and touched his arm, dragging her nails back and forth over his leather jacket.

He had a hard time believing these girls were actually strippers, especially after watching their routine. They seemed too innocent and too soft for the life they were trying to break into. He'd been around plenty of strippers when his band played in some of the seedier parts of New York. They had a toughness to them that Muffin and Cupcake seemed to lack. Lizzy's hand was suddenly on his knee and he locked eyes with her and decided she might be a different story.

Remy was right, though, the auditions were really bad. He'd heard her laugh out loud from the bar a couple of times. About ten girls had gone on so far - none of them particularly noteworthy, but none as bad as the Charlie's Angels act. Jack figured it couldn't get much worse than that one; then the music started.

XxXxXxXxXx

A steady beat was pounding through the walls of his office. Bobby had wanted to put up wood paneling to muffle the noise, but Remy pointed out that paneling would make his office look like the set of a seventies porn flick. He decided to go with a nice, dark green paint instead. Less porn-like, but shitty protection against the incessant beat of the music from the floor.

Tim Shepard was sitting at Bobby's desk, going over the books with him. He'd made the right decision in letting the older man take over for him while he was gone. The guy had done a good job - hell, they were pulling in a better profit than while he'd been overseeing the place. He figured it was just a case of having new blood in the position, but part of him was wondering if he'd just burned himself out on the whole club scene. It had been fun when it started - a lark he'd found himself on when he gotten the place as payment for a debt he was owed about five years ago.

He nodded at something Tim said and the older man narrowed his eyes at him, emphasizing the scar that ran down the side of his face from his temple to his chin. Bobby had always wanted to ask him about that scar, but never got up the nerve. Guys like Tim Shepard didn't usually live to be old guys, but when they did you had to remember where they came from and not underestimate them.

He was a tough guy, tough and coiled tight like a snake. Just because his hair was grey and his face bore a few wrinkles did not mean he was some kind old fart with candy in his pocket and a smile on his face. You didn't get prison tattoos like the ones snaking up Shepard's arms because you were a nice guy and led a clean life. Bobby had a healthy respect for guys like Tim Shepard and didn't regret his decision to hire him a year back.

"You ain't really listening to me, are you, Mercer?" Tim asked the question with a grin, but Bobby noted the coldness in his eyes. The guy had the sense of humor of a brick wall and Bobby knew for a fact that Remy and a couple of the bouncers had a running bet on whether or not the guy would ever crack a joke. Far as he knew, the bet still hadn't been settled.

Bobby shrugged. "You've got it under control. I left the place in good hands. Not sure what your brother's doin' out there, though. Didn't realize Curly had been promoted to entertainment manager."

It was Tim's turn to shrug. "He's good at it. Plus, Elle just skipped. She's getting married and we're short one of our best girls now."

"Fuck," Bobby muttered. Elle had been a favorite of many of the regulars - plus she was good, damned good.

"It's easier to let Curly sit through the cattle call," Tim explained as he started putting away the files he'd been showing Bobby. "I get less of a headache that way."

Bobby stood up and stretched, his back cracking as he sighed. "Well, I need a fucking drink, so we're gonna have to brave the shitty dancers anyway."

Just then, a new song started, the beat a familiar one, though Bobby couldn't quite put his finger on the name of the song.

XxXxXxXxXx

Tom Jones was officially ruined forever. Well, not that Jack had really cared for the guy's music that much to begin with, but Evelyn had really liked him and he always thought of her when he stumbled upon one of his songs on the radio.

He had this one memory in particular of her putting one of his records on and forcing Jack and Angel to dance around with her. He'd been so shy and reluctant at first and Angel had looked like he wanted to crawl under the couch and die, but they were all laughing and dancing like fools by the time the first song ended.

Well, that memory was now going to be replaced with something called "Sparkle Cat". He had puzzled over the name when Curly had announced it, but soon understood it when the girl in the bizarre cat costume threw a handful of glitter at his table during her dance routine. It was like he'd showered in the stuff and he dreaded the moment Bobby got a load of it since it was certain to fuel enough fairy jokes to last into the next century.

Sparkle Cat was dancing, if you could call it that, to "What's New Pussycat?", a song that would now haunt his dreams. At least the song helped explain the cat ears and the tail.

Her gyrations bordered on spastic and Jack didn't know whether to laugh, cringe or call 911 because she was having a seizure. At one point, she tripped and fell, flailing about, trying to grab the stripper pole to keep from wiping out completely. Muffin and Cupcake suddenly laughed and he'd almost forgotten the other girls were with him. They were all watching the performance with open-mouthed-awe. She was bad. She was really bad.

When she tried to stand back up, her tail got caught in the stiletto heel of her ridiculous shoes, ripping off the tail and leaving a gaping hole in the back of her leotard. In her scurrying to grab the tail, an ear fell off and landed on Curly's table, skittering across the surface and coming to land on top of his clipboard. Time seemed to stop at the moment as everyone stared at the stage, waiting to see what would happen next.

"What the hell?" A deep voice sounded behind Jack and he jumped. He hadn't realized Bobby had come back from his office. He had his manager with him and they both looked confused.

"She's a waitress. She wanted a shot," Tim explained, not taking his eyes off the stage.

Bobby pulled out his gun and handed it to Tim. "Here, she wants a shot so bad, take one. Aim for between her eyes and put us all out of our misery."

XxXxXxXxXx

Auditions were over and Jack was back at the bar, sitting on a stool and watching Remy finish up inventory and start to set up for the night.

The Charlie's Angels trio had left a little while ago, abandoning Jack. Each one had pulled him aside when they thought the others weren't looking and each one had pressed a kiss to his cheek and slipped a piece of paper into the front pocket of his jeans.

His cheek was now smudged with varying shades of red lipstick and he couldn't seem to shake the warring scents of their cheap perfumes that were clinging to his jacket. Cheap perfumes that clashed with each other, much to his annoyance. Normally things like perfume weren't a problem since the smell of cigarette smoke usually followed him around like a second skin.

He pulled the slips of paper from his pocket and studied them before putting them back. He had three phones numbers, all written in the same kind of girly, flowery script that guys secretly hated; but he had no real intention of calling any of them. They were cute, but not really his type. Well, maybe Lizzy. He really wasn't sure how long Bobby was planning on staying in Chicago, so he might have more time on his hands than he realized.

He crossed his arms on top of the bar and glanced over his shoulder at his brother. He was talking with Tim and Curly, looking over the clipboard and headshots of the girls who auditioned.

"Hey," Remy said, grabbing his attention. "You're getting fucking glitter all over my bar." She grabbed a rag and shooed him back as she cleaned up the mess.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly.

She reached out and ruffled his hair. "Yeah, well you're going to leave a trail of the stuff like breadcrumbs when you leave here tonight," she said with a laugh as she held out the hand she'd just run through his hair. It was coated in the sparkly stuff.

"Fuck," he grumbled as he shook his head, more glitter showering out of his hair.

"Here comes the culprit; you can thank her yourself." Remy nodded in the direction of the door to the dressing room. The girl who assaulted him with the glitter was headed their way, a threadbare bathrobe knotted securely over what was left of her costume.

"Hi, Remy," she said when she reached the bar. "Was it as bad as I think?"

Remy shrugged as she started filling up napkin dispensers. "That depends, hon, how bad do you think it was?"

"Crap," she said with a groan as she sat in the stool next to Jack, "I knew it." She put her elbow up on the bar and leaned her chin on her hand, a sadness looming over her and for a second Jack was afraid she was going to cry.

She looked over at him, her eyes teary and red. "Hey."

"Hey," he repeated as he nodded awkwardly, some glitter floating down from his hair. She kept staring at him and it was a little disconcerting. Suddenly, she squinted at him and scrunched up her nose.

"Do I know you?" she asked and Remy stopped what she was doing and looked over at them.

He shrugged. "Not that I know of," he answered but the would-be stripper kept staring at him.

"You look really familiar," she persisted, a slow smile spreading across her face.

"Nah, I really don't --" he stared, but stopped once he got a good look at her and her wide eyes and crooked smile. "Shelly?"

Her smile grew much bigger and she hopped off her seat and enveloped him in a hug. "Jackie Lynch," she exclaimed and he laughed.

"Actually, it's not Lynch," he started to explain as he tried to pull out of her tight hug without being too obvious about it.

Bobby had obviously been alerted by the high-pitched squeal and he was now standing at the bar, a puzzled look on his face.

"Bobby, this is Shelly," Jack said as an introduction. She still had a hold of his arm, but he gave up trying to break free.

"I used to baby-sit for him back in Detroit when he was just a kid," she said, her voice giddy.

Bobby looked her up and down. "I don't remember you," he said evenly.

"It was when I was with another foster family," Jack explained. "They liked to ditch me a lot, but they would actually spring for a babysitter once in a while."

Shelly giggled, raising her hand and wiggling her fingers. "Me."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Riveting."

Tim joined them. "So, Mercer, what are your thoughts about the dancers?"

"Mercer," Shelly suddenly said, interrupting them. She pointed a finger at Bobby. "Wait, you're Bobby Mercer?" She looked at Jack. "So that would make you …"

"Jack Mercer. We're brothers."

Remy was eyeing Shelly strangely. "Everything okay, kid?"

Jack exchanged a confused glance with Bobby who had his eyes glued to the cat lady. She was fidgeting with the belt of her robe and not really looking at anyone.

"Yeah, everything's fine," she said as she sat back down with a sigh. "Everything's perfectly fine. I just need a drink."


	15. Chapter 15

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _After All_ by Collective Soul

**Chapter Fifteen**

_We're running headlong into our confusion_

Jerry let out a low whistle when he stepped into the fitting room of the bridal salon. Angel turned around and grinned, running his fingers down the lapel of the sharp, black jacket.

"Nice, huh?" he asked and Jerry nodded.

"Not bad," Jerry said appreciatively as he sat on the frilly, padded bench that was up against the flowered wall and stretched his legs out in front of him. Angel looked at the full length mirror in front of him and fought the urge to pose. He had to admit, he looked good. Sofi decided to let the guys have their choice of suits and he chose well, if he did say so himself.

An older woman was kneeling at Angel's feet, tugging on his pant leg, a pin cushion attached to her wrist and a length of yellow measuring tape draped over her shoulders.

"Stop moving, sir, or you're going to get --"

"Ow! Fuck!"

"Stuck."

Jerry leaned his head back and laughed. Angel glanced over his shoulder.

"Keep laughin'. You're next," he said with a grimace.

"I'm telling ya - Bobby and Jack hightailed it outta here to avoid all this wedding crap."

"Sofi's already bugging me about Cracker Jack and wants to know when he's comin' back," Angel sighed. "Now she's asking me all these questions about colors and shit. How the hell do I know if canary goes with fuchsia? I don't even know what the fuck fuchsia is. I'm tempted to drive her to Chicago and drop her at Bobby's doorstep."

The lady on the floor suddenly made a sound that sounded like a muffled laugh and Angel looked down at her. "Does fuchsia go with canary?" He felt so silly asking it. Her answer was a sharp tug on his pant leg as she mumbled something around the pins in her mouth. He wasn't sure, but it sounded like, "Idiots."

"Would serve Bobby right, leavin' us here to figure this shit out," Jerry said with a sigh as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees and his head hanging low.

Angel studied his brother, the torturer with the stick pins momentarily forgotten.

"What did you find out?"

Jerry shrugged.

"Is it bad?" Angel asked steadily.

"Well, it ain't good, that's for damn sure."

"We need to call Bobby?"

"Yeah, we need to call Bobby."

XxXxXxXxX

"So Sweet isn't full of shit?" Bobby asked, cradling the phone on his shoulder as he opened the fridge and tried not to groan at the sorry state of his food options. His apartment above the club was never well stocked to begin with, but this was pathetic.

"Looks that way, Bobby." Jerry sounded tired and Bobby felt a twinge of guilt. It was his idea to drag Jack to Chicago while leaving Jerry and Angel behind to sort out the mess in Detroit. He couldn't help it, those pictures scared him and if anything happened to Jack, he didn't think he could live through that again. Running wasn't his style, but he had to let his instincts guide him on this one.

"Evan asked around some and he said there's been some fresh blood movin' in, guys from New York, fillin' in where Sweet's goons left off. Looks like he isn't taking any chances with the locals this time. Something's brewing, Bobby, and it don't look good." Jerry paused and Bobby heard him draw in a deep breath and let it out in a loud sigh. "Just when I've started to get my project off the ground again. It's like we're cursed or something."

Grabbing a beer since it was the only thing in the refrigerator that hadn't expired or turned green, Bobby slammed the door shut and padded over to the couch, slumping into the overstuffed seat.

"So is the revenge just like a side project or something?"

"That would be my guess. He's seizing the opportunity and setting up shop in the city, making Victor look like a small time hood."

"Victor _was_ a small time hood," Bobby pointed out, twisting off the bottle cap.

He glanced toward the closed bedroom door, not really expecting to see Jack appear. Jack was still having trouble getting to sleep at night and once he finally settled, he slept like the dead, likely both physically and mentally exhausted. Bobby wanted him to tell his doctor about it and he claimed he did, but Bobby didn't believe him for a second. He knew Jack didn't want to add to his laundry list of problems if he didn't have to. Plus, growing up like he did – hell, like they all did – nightmares were pretty much par for the course and you learned to live with them.

"I'm sending Camille and the kids to her mother's. I just can't take a chance with 'em."

Bobby suddenly felt guilty. The thought of Jerry's family being targets hadn't even entered his mind. "What did Camille have to say about that?"

Jerry laughed. "She was pissed, but she'll get over it. She knows I wouldn't ask her to do it if it wasn't important."

"How much did you tell her?"

"Probably more than you told Jack. He still in the dark?"

Bobby groaned and pushed a pillow on to the floor. He'd slept on the couch last night and the pillows and sheets were tangled all over the place because he'd had a bitch of a time falling asleep.

"Yes, Jerry, he's still in the dark and I'm gonna keep it that way as long as I can."

"Bobby --" Jerry started to protest but Bobby cut him off before he could get going.

"Look, man, you ain't around all the time. You don't see him struggling in physical therapy or how exhausted he is at night. You don't hear the nightmares."

There was silence on the other end for a minute. "Nightmares?" Jerry practically whispered the question.

"Yeah, shit like this doesn't fix itself overnight, you know."

Jerry was quiet again and Bobby swore he could hear him pacing on the other end, probably running his hands through his hair as he tried to reason out the problem. "Fine," he finally said. "But I reserve the right to tell you 'I told you so' when he finds out you've been lyin' to him and does whatever the Jack-equivalent is to whipping your ass."

A soft thump sounded from the bedroom, followed by a muffled curse. "Shit," Bobby said. "I think the kid's awake. I gotta go."

"Awake? It's one o'clock in the afternoon." Jerry sounded shocked and Bobby rolled his eyes, the gesture lost on his brother on the other end.

"We are an hour behind you guys," he pointed out.

"Fine. I repeat. Awake? It's twelve o'clock."

"It was a long night," Bobby offered as a lame excuse.

"Long night?"

"Strippers, music, glitter, the usual."

"I don't think I want to know," Jerry mumbled.

"Trust me, you don't."

He was about to hang up when Jerry suddenly called out. "Hey, wait, Angel wants you to ask Cracker Jack if …" Jerry's voice trailed off. "What was that, man?" he asked and Bobby could hear Angel's deep voice, answering him in the background. "Uh, does canary go with fuchsia?"

Bobby pulled the phone back and looked at it in confusion. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Jerry said with a laugh.

"Sounds like some fairy secret code. Maybe I've been ragging on the wrong little brother all these years."

XxXxXxXxX

Jack was leaning in the doorway, more asleep than awake. He could have easily slept for a couple more hours, but Bobby's loud voice woke him up. Quiet was a concept that Bobby never quite grasped.

"Well, if it isn't Tinkerbell," Bobby looked over his shoulder from his spot on the couch and grinned wickedly. "'Bout time you woke up, sweetheart. All that fairy dust make you sleepy?"

"Shut up, Bobby," Jack growled, running his hand through his hair. Glitter floated onto the floor and he groaned when he realized the stuff was all down the front of his faded t-shirt.

"Great comeback."

"They get better after coffee."

"Good luck with that," Bobby responded with a laugh and Jack narrowed his eyes.

"What does that mean?"

"See for yourself."

Jack slowly made his way through the living room into the tiny kitchen. He opened a couple of cabinets and was met with a sparse selection of plates and glasses, but not much else. The refrigerator wasn't any better.

"How can you not even have ice?"

"What do you need ice for? There isn't anything to drink," Bobby said as he strolled into the kitchen.

Jack shut the freezer door and limped over to the small island in the middle of the room. "For my knee. Coffee and ice, man. That's all I need. Who doesn't have coffee and ice?" he complained as he sat down on a kitchen stool.

He was wearing boxers and the ugly crisscrossing scars were plainly visible; he noticed the grimace on Bobby's face as he glanced at them. The other bullet wounds weren't pretty, but his knee had taken the brunt of the abuse. Today it was more swollen and stiff than usual and he knew exactly who to blame for that.

"What is with the waterbed, Bobby? Killed my knee." He rolled his shoulders and winced at the pain that shot down his arm and up his neck. "Not to mention my shoulder."

"Came with the place," Bobby opened and shut a couple of drawers. He stopped at the one next to the sink and pulled out a folded piece of paper, waving it in the air triumphantly. "Found it," he exclaimed and Jack realized the piece of paper was a menu.

"When in Chicago do as … what people in Chicago do," Bobby said lamely.

"What's that?"

Bobby grinned and grabbed the phone. "Order pizza."

XxXxXxXxX

Jack was leaning against the couch, sitting on the floor with his leg stretched out in front of him. He had the two liter bottle of soda that came with the pizza leaning against his knee, hoping it would help ease the swelling a little bit. He took a bite of pizza and asked, "So if we were in Philly, would we have had to get cheese steaks?"

Bobby was thoughtful for a moment. "Nah, woulda probably still gone with a pizza." He was on the floor next to Jack. The couch was way too overstuffed and the floor was actually more comfortable. They had the TV on but there was nothing to watch.

Jack looked around, taking in the décor he had missed last night when they had finally stumbled upstairs. He had been so tired that the place could have been blanketed in rainbows and pink unicorns and he wouldn't have noticed. No unicorns, but one thing was for certain, the place certainly didn't scream "Bobby" when you looked at it. "What is with all the animal prints, man? It looks like Siegfried and Roy exploded in here."

That was actually an understatement. The place was tacky. If it wasn't covered in a leopard, white tiger, or zebra print, then it was black. Everything. Jack remembered thinking something was odd when he woke up that morning and then it dawned on him.

"Is there a mirror on the ceiling in the bedroom?" Jack was staring at his brother, his mouth hanging open, half in shock, half in stunned amusement.

Bobby shrugged, uncharacteristically quiet for a change. If Jack didn't know any better, he'd even say it looked like he was blushing. Bobby Mercer didn't blush, it was a documented fact.

"Whatever, Jackiepoo," Bobby said, rolling up the paper towel he was using and tossing it onto the coffee table – the black lacquered coffee table with the white marble inlay, Jack noted. "Place came furnished. I already told you that."

Jack shook his head. "Right. You've lived here for five years. Plenty of time to get a new sofa."

"I was busy."

"Busy," Jack snorted. "Too busy to peel the mirror off the ceiling? Bullshit."

"Remy's been on my ass to redecorate."

Jack sat up a little straighter. "Remy. Really?"

"Yeah. Remy. Really," Bobby mimicked. "Why did you fuckin' say it like that?"

Jack scrunched up his paper towel and tossed it at the table, aiming for Bobby's. It missed and landed on the floor. "No reason," he said with a shrug. "Just that there seemed to be …"

Bobby's eyes narrowed. "Seemed to be what?"

"Just seemed to maybe be somethin' between you guys, is all." Jack grinned and picked up the remote from the floor and started to absentmindedly flip through the channels on the TV.

"Well, you're wrong."

"Sure," Jack agreed, nodding his head.

"You are."

"I wasn't arguing with you."

"Nothing to argue about." Bobby grabbed the last slice of pizza from the box that was on the floor between them.

"Nothing at all. But …" Jack started, biting back a grin as he Bobby's hand froze in the middle of raising the slice to his mouth. He looked pissed. Jack couldn't help but continue. "But you do mention her a lot," he said quickly.

"She bitches at me constantly," Bobby said, tossing the slice back into the box.

Jack simply nodded.

"She's always correcting me."

"Uh huh."

"Telling me what to do."

"Sound familiar?" Jack raised an eyebrow.

Bobby grew very still and Jack could see the moment realization hit him. "Fuck."

XxXxXxXxX

Jack was bored. The club didn't open for several hours and he wasn't really up to sightseeing. Lurching around Chicago on a bum knee to look at some random buildings wasn't exactly his idea of a good time.

He had his guitar. He hadn't even realized Bobby had brought it with them until he was hauling it out of the car with the rest of their stuff. Bobby had mumbled something about it keeping Jack out of his hair when he'd asked him why he'd packed it.

He had the guitar out, along with his notebook in case inspiration hit. But the paper was blank and his guitar was silent. He hadn't written a lyric since his mother died and he was beginning to think he never would.

He'd had enough shit happen in the last couple of months for countless songs, yet nothing was coming to him. And forcing it never helped. That only succeeded in making it worse. 

Something was blocking him and he knew he had to stop blaming his shoulder injury. That excuse could only last so long before everyone, including himself, stopped buying it.

He had the letter from Susan Vaughn out on the table, lying next to his notebook. He wasn't sure what compelled him to read it again, maybe his subconscious was trying to use it for inspiration or something. If anything, a letter from his birth mom should be worth at least an angst-ridden song or two. All reading it succeeded in doing was make him feel guilty for essentially ignoring it and the sentiment behind it. He should at least be able to write the woman a goddamn letter. Something to acknowledge her.

Bobby came in through the front door. He'd been meeting with his manager to discuss some things and had been gone for a couple of hours.

"How did the meeting go?" Jack asked as he picked up the guitar and worked on tuning the strings, strumming a couple of random notes until he was happy with it. It was the third time he'd done it since sitting down earlier that afternoon.

"Fine. Shepard's got this place running smoothly – he don't need me telling him what to do." Bobby sighed as he stretched out on the opposite end of the sofa.

"So, does that mean we're going home?" Jack asked. Part of him wanted to go back, but another part of him was enjoying being away from the same old place for a while. Granted, sitting on Bobby's couch and doing nothing was pretty much the same as sitting on Evelyn's couch and doing nothing, but at least the view was different.

Bobby was quiet for a minute, pounding his fist softly on the arm of the couch, like he was debating something with himself. "Nah, we ain't goin' home yet. We just broke outta the place and you wanna go back?"

Jack shrugged. "No. I guess not."

Bobby sat up, leaning his forearms on his knees. "We could go somewhere. You got any place you want to see?"

"What? Like the World's Largest Ball of Twine? No thanks, I'm good," Jack said with a laugh.

Jack realized the letter was still on the table the same second Bobby did. His older brother reached out and grabbed it.

"Ya know," Bobby started, waving the letter back and forth like he was baiting his brother with it. Jack slowly shook his head but Bobby persisted. "We could."

"No." Jack turned his attention back to his guitar, trying to suppress the urge to actually agree with Bobby. They really could just drive to California. Neither one of them had ties right now to anything. Just hop in the car and go. He'd done stupider things in his life, like buying a bus ticket to New York when he turned eighteen and trying to leave in the middle of the night without tipping off Evelyn. As far as plans go, this one was just about as well thought out as that one had been.

Bobby was looking at him, he could tell even with his head down. Bobby wasn't going to let it drop, not that he ever let anything drop without an argument - Jack just wasn't expecting him to use reverse psychology. "I guess we could just go back to Detroit and Bridezilla. That reminds me – Sofi wants to know if canary goes with fuchsia."

Jack slumped back into the couch, slid down in his seat and closed his eyes, suddenly very tired. "If I answer that, you're gonna make fun of me, aren't you?"

"You better fucking believe it," Bobby answered with a grin that skirted on the edge of evil.

Jack reached over and grabbed the letter. "I'll think about it."

Bobby held up his hands as though he was surrendering. "That's all I ask. Just consider it." Bobby gave him the once over. "You should go take a nap or something, you look beat. Wouldn't want you to miss out on tonight."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "What's tonight?"

"World premiere of Sparkle Tramp, or some shit like that."

"Sparkle Cat," Jack corrected him.

Bobby laughed. "Like it fucking matters."

"Is there enough glitter left in Chicago?" Jack regretted the question as soon as he asked it.

"Oh, don't worry, Tinkerbell, I'm sure you'll get your share."


	16. Chapter 16

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _A Pain That I'm Used To_ by Depeche Mode

**Chapter 16**

_All this running around  
Well, it's getting me down  
Just give me a pain that I'm used to_

"And what is with all the animal prints?" Jack asked loudly above the techno beat of the music in the background.

Remy grinned and leaned forward, almost like she was telling a secret. "How about the mirror in the bedroom?" she said in a low voice, her gaze locking with Bobby's. He was standing behind his brother, slightly bemused by the conversation until it had turned to his decorating sense. Jack didn't know he was there, but Bobby had a feeling that wouldn't change the shit that was coming out of his mouth.

Jack pounded his fist on the bar and laughed. "I knew you'd know about the mirror."

Bobby rolled his eyes as Remy winked at him.

Jack was drunk.

Bobby glared at his brother but stopped himself from nagging him. He'd been doing that too much and it didn't help. All it did was give him a headache – one that settled right between his eyes and lasted for hours. In the end, Jack would still be wasted, having a good time, and he'd be stuck with a fucking splitting headache. He figured it was best to just leave it alone for now. He had a feeling his baby brother would be feeling enough like shit the next day to prove his point, anyway.

Biting back a sigh, he stepped up, bracing his hands on the bar. "Remy."

She nodded slightly. "Boss." Did she always say it in that way? Not that he could explain just what way that was, but there was something to it. The way she squinted and almost smiled without smiling. He shook his head. Jack had him looking for shit that wasn't there.

Jack finished his glass and pushed it across the bar, toward Remy. Bobby grabbed it before she could get a hold of it.

"No more, sweetheart."

Remy laughed, a deep throaty laugh. Bobby swallowed heavily and looked at her for a second before turning his attention to his scowling brother.

"He's only had three," she said as she snatched the glass from Bobby's hand and placed it with the other dirty glasses.

"Three?" Bobby snorted a laugh. "Man, are you a cheap date or what, Tinkerbell?"

"Fuck you, Bobby. I'm just tired."

Bobby shook his head. "Nah, that's not it. You get quiet when you're tired. And you're fucking obnoxious when you're drunk."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "I'm not obnoxious." He looked at Remy who just shrugged. Pushing away from the bar, he slid off the stool. "Whatever, man. I'm gonna go to bed."

Bobby watched silently as Jack made his way toward the stairs that led up to his apartment. He was limping but seemed okay otherwise.

Remy loudly placed a glass and bottle on the bar behind him and he turned around to face her. "Gotta let him leave the nest at some point," she observed with a crooked grin.

Bobby grabbed the bottle and poured a glass of amber liquid. "He left it long ago; we've just had some minor setbacks lately."

"The reason you left last year?" she asked and Bobby could tell she was trying to be casual about it. He knew he wasn't an easy one to talk to and he liked it that way.

"More like the outcome." He looked down at the bar and the polished wood surface, noticing the contrast between the unmarred surface and his battle-scarred hands. He wasn't made for fancy shit, even if it was just a down-and-dirty strip club with a shiny veneer. Detroit built him hard and tough and here he was just a wolf in sheep's clothing, trying to fool himself otherwise.

"What happened? If you don't mind me asking." She was wiping down the bar with a rag. It was a slow night. Not a lot of action on a Sunday; the regulars needed at least one night with their wives. Things usually picked up by the middle of the week.

"Of course I mind you asking." He cracked his knuckles, taking comfort in the familiar popping sound. "My ma died. We had a score to settle. We settled it." Straight and to the point. Remy had stopped in the middle of what she was doing and he could see the shock in her eyes.

"And Jack?" she asked carefully.

Bobby looked down, seeing a wide expanse of snow, covered in blood. "I fucked up. He paid the price." He might as well have been drinking water for all the good the whiskey did him as he downed the glass in one gulp.

"Oh," Remy said softly and he looked up. He didn't know how to respond when a woman looked at him like that. He poured a second drink and closed his eyes, counting to ten. He hoped that when he opened them, the Remy he knew and fought with would be back. Because right now, he didn't know what the fuck to think.

"Shit," Remy said suddenly, breaking through his thoughts. "I'm out of beer." She was staring at the empty fridge they kept behind the bar, her hand on her hip as she swung the door closed. She was muttering to herself and then she looked at him and a sly grin spread across her face. "Say, be a doll and go get some from storage out back?" He was surprised she didn't bite her lip and twirl a lock of hair around one finger as she said that.

"Don't we fuckin' pay someone to do that?"

"Tim gives him off Sundays. Cuts back on payroll."

"Then make Tim go on the fuckin' beer run." He glanced back at the closed door of Shepard's office, suddenly realizing he no longer thought of it as his own. The place wasn't his anymore, he knew that the minute he'd pulled up yesterday. He could easily be a silent partner and let Shepard run the place.

Remy pouted, a look he didn't think he'd ever see on her face. Normally she was full of piss and vinegar, but it was fucking cold out and those cases were heavy. He didn't blame her for pulling out all the stops in trying to convince him to go. Sighing heavily, he finished off his whiskey and shoved the glass across the bar. Remy caught it easily.

"Thanks, Boss," she called after him as he made his way toward the back of the club.

XxXxXxXxX

The backroom was dark, lit only by a bare light bulb in the ceiling. They kept the beer cool in a refrigerated storage unit in the back alley. They had a guy on staff who helped Remy run the bar – keeping the beer stocked and the barware fresh. Tonight, apparently, he was that guy.

Bobby opened the backdoor a crack, but something making him hesitate. Call it a sixth sense, call it his Spidey Sense, whatever it was, something kicked it into overdrive. There were voices on the other side, talking with hushed urgency in the dark alley. A man's voice – deep and commanding, and a chick's voice – nervous and rushed.

"I think I know him. I, um, I recognize his name," she said in a shrill voice, tripping over several of the words.

"So?"

"So? He's a good guy. I'm not … you didn't tell me …" she was flailing about for the words and Bobby leaned in closer, hoping to catch a glimpse through the narrow opening.

It was that lousy stripper – Sparkle-something – she'd been waitressing that night and she'd thrown a battered bathrobe on over her skimpy uniform. It was chilly out and he could see her shivering from here. She was holding a lighter up to a cigarette she had between her lips. The flame kept going out in the wind but she kept persisting with it. She was going to set her hair on fire, the way her hands were shaking.

"How the fuck would I know that you know him?" The guy she was talking to was big – big and imposing. She looked like a kid next to him. He had her cornered, but Bobby wasn't sure she realized it. All her focus seemed to be on getting that damn cigarette lit.

"I won't do it – you can find someone else," she said as she crumbled the butt in her hand and tossed it on the ground, finally giving up on getting her nicotine fix.

"There is no one else." He took a step forward and she had no choice but to lean up against the grimy brick wall. "Sweet's payin' you and you'll damn well do what he says."

"Fuck." Bobby felt his heart plummet to his stomach. The mention of Sweet had him reaching for the gun he had tucked into his jeans at the small of his back. They'd followed them to Chicago – or were waiting for them. Either way, things had just gotten a lot more fucked up.

"Are they here or not?"

Bobby didn't think it was possible for the guy to get any closer to her, but he did, his big belly pressing her against the wall. Bobby pulled the gun from his waistband, finding some small comfort in its familiar weight.

She took a deep breath and Bobby could sense her hesitation. She held his life and Jack's life in her hands right now. His grip tightened on the gun. He could kill the guy, no problem, but that would attract more trouble than it was worth. The trigger moved a millimeter under his finger as he weighed his options.

"No," she answered and Bobby eased up on the trigger, feeling it move back into place.

"You better not be fucking lying to me. Sweet doesn't tolerate liars."

"I'm not lying." She was looking steadily at the man's chest, not meeting his eyes. Bobby would have known in a heartbeat that the bitch was lying, but the creep bought it and backed away from her slightly. Never let it be said that the Sweet boys went after smarts when they hired their goons.

"And what are you gonna do the second they show up?" He pushed against her shoulder as he asked the question and she winced.

"Ca-call you," she stuttered.

"And if I find out you've been lyin' to me …" He ran his finger lightly across her neck, a wicked grin splitting his face and Bobby realized that, smart or not, the fucker was crazy.

XxXxXxXxX

Bobby covered her mouth with his hand as he dragged her through the door. The guy had left, presumably taking the waitress's word that she'd call him as soon as any Mercer stepped foot into the club.

Shutting the door behind her, he pushed her up against the wall. Her eyes were wide open above his hand. Wide and scared. Well, he didn't fucking care. He still had the gun in his other hand and he showed it to her, noting that her eyes grew even larger. "If you fucking scream or say anything, I'm going to kill you. Got it?"

She just stared at him.

"Got it?" he repeated through clenched teeth and she nodded, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm gonna take my hand away and if you so much as breathe loudly …" he let the unspoken threat hang in the air.

"Bobby, what is taking you so --" Remy stepped into the room, her voice trailing off as she took in the scene in front of her. "Shelly? Bobby? What the hell is going on?"

"I was just about to ask Sparkle Tramp the same question. What the fuck is going on?" He grabbed her arm and he could feel his fingers digging into her skin. He released his grip, feeling an unwelcome twinge of guilt at the bruises he'd most likely left behind. Shelly didn't say anything, she just stood there, still as a fucking statue. "Well?" he practically yelled in her face.

Remy took a step forward. "Bobby," she said steadily.

"Don't 'Bobby' me." He made a fist, wishing he had someone to punch. "She's fucking working for the guy who wants to kill my brother."

XxXxXxXxX

"She's fired." Bobby was holding a towel of ice against his knuckles. He'd finally given up and punched the wall in frustration.

"I think that goes without saying," Remy said as she lifted up the ice pack and started dabbing some ointment on the places where the skin had split. She blew on it lightly and he fought to hold back a grin. _Just like Ma used to do_ , he thought to himself. "So what are you going to do?" she asked when she finished with her doctoring.

That was the question he'd been asking himself ever since he'd opened that backdoor. Once they'd entered the main room of the club, he'd gone to the window, pulled back the shades and glanced out, not surprised in the least to see a fancy BMW parked across the street and that big guy in it, talking on the phone, watching the entrance. Shelly had bought them some time, but not much. If that idiot had even half a brain, he'd eventually come into the club on his own.

Right now, they were sitting ducks and Bobby wasn't about to just wait around for the other side to start shooting.

He looked at Remy, a plot forming in his head by the second. He could practically hear Jerry nagging him about taking his time, looking at the situation from every angle. Fuck that.

"Remy," he said in a low voice, "I need your help."


	17. Chapter 17

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Ballroom Blitz_ by Sweet

**Chapter 17**

_And the girl in the corner is everyone's mourner_

_  
She could kill you with a wink of her eye_

"He's still there." Remy stepped away from the window, the shade moving slightly as it shifted back into place.

"Of course he is," Bobby said as he checked his gun for bullets. Satisfied it was loaded and ready to fire, he laid it on top of the empty table he was sitting at. "He's gonna fucking sit there until we make an appearance or he gets fed up and comes inside. We're just lucky he didn't show up sooner, that Sweet figured a snitch working in the club was enough. I was fucking stupid not to realize he was setting a trap." He made a fist, wincing as pain flared across his abused knuckles.

Remy sat down in the seat across from him, sighing heavily as she absentmindedly reached out and spun the gun around in a lazy circle. Bobby growled. "It's dangerous to touch a man's gun, ya know?"

Remy shrugged. "I'll take my chances."

Bobby gave her a ghost of a smile but didn't say anything. The club was silent; he had Tim shut the music off as soon as the bouncers dragged the last pathetic loser out the door. Silence usually helped him think, but so many thoughts were warring in his head right now that he was on the verge of screaming.

He didn't even know why he was surprised. Shit, he wouldn't even call it surprised, more like just fucking fed up. All of this should have been behind them – decomposing on the bottom of the lake right alongside Victor Sweet.

"What do you need me to do?" Remy asked, breaking through the noise in his head.

He shifted in his seat, uneasy at the thought of bringing her into this. But even if Jack wasn't out of the loop, he was in no condition at the moment to be of any use. Remy was all there was, plus she looked a hell of a lot better in a skirt than Cracker Jack.

He stood up and stretched, groaning as his back cracked. Grabbing his gun and tucking it into his waistband, he grinned. "Well …"

XxXxXxXxX

"This thing is three sizes too small."

"That's the idea," Bobby said, staring blatantly at the cleavage that was now on display.

Remy poked his shoulder. "Hey, eyes up here, Boss," she said, pointing to her face.

He laughed sharply. "Just makin' sure you look the part." He took a step back and looked her up and down. If he didn't know who she was, he wouldn't have recognized her. He had to hand it to her, she would have made one hell of a stripper. It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest just that, but she'd more than likely cut his balls off and stuff them down his throat if he said anything. The thought alone made him wince.

The red tube dress was tiny - a little number that was left in the dressing room by one of the girls. It didn't fit in all the right places. Remy kept tugging on the hem, trying to keep it from riding up her ass, but all that succeeded in doing was pulling the top down lower, exposing more of her chest.

"Oh, I think I fucking look the part. I'll be lucky if I don't get arrested for indecent exposure before I even make it across the street." Remy glared at him as she braced one hand on the wall and struggled to pull on a pair of strappy high heels. "You're gonna owe me, Bobby Mercer – big time. And don't think for a second that I don't aim to collect."

XxXxXxXxX

Remy forced herself to keep her focus on the car parked across the street. It was too tempting to glance back at the club, but that would just tip off the guy in the car that something was up. She couldn't stop shaking and it didn't help that it was freezing out, but maybe she could use that to her advantage.

Her ankles teetered a little in the heels as she walked across the cracked, shitty asphalt, but she somehow managed to walk in a straight line without falling on her ass. The car had tinted windows that made it hard to see inside, but she swore she could feel the guy's eyes on her, and that thought alone made her shiver harder than any Chicago wind ever had. She'd never felt more alone than she had at that moment. There may be abig city out there, but at that moment, her whole world was that stretch of road, the car, and Bobby Mercer lurking somewhere with a gun. Yeah, he was definitely going to owe her and she planned on making his life a living hell until he paid up.

The stranger was lowering the driver's side window before she'd even made it to the car. She hoped that meant he was in a receptive mood and wouldn't make this whole thing even more awkward than it already was. She took a deep breath before taking that final step that would put her within an arm's length of the creep in the car.

"Hey, baby," she said, forcing herself not to cringe. She sounded like a fucking cliché, but it wasn't like this was something she did every day. "It's cold out here," she said, rubbing her arms and leaning forward, letting the creep get an eyeful. "Wanna come inside where it's warm?"

He leered at her. Hell, she would have leered too if she'd seen some bimbo standing outside, half naked, propositioning some shady looking guy in a BMW.

Slowly licking his lips, he looked from her to the club and then back again. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well," she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder, "I have a room above the club and no one's around and I'm feeling lonely tonight …" Her voice trailed off as she let the guy fill in the blanks any way he wanted to. "I thought you might be lonely, too."

XxXxXxXxX

Bobby had to hand it to Remy, she worked fast. The guy had fallen for it and now they were headed to the side alley – the plan was running like fucking clockwork.

The alley was dark and the shadows seemed to ebb and pulse with every second that ticked by. Bobby felt adrenaline rush through his veins and he grinned. He used to feed off this shit when he was younger and it was good to get a healthy dose of it from time to time. He hated that his family was in danger, but he wouldn't lie and claim that he didn't enjoy the fucking moment when he was in the middle of it. It felt good to be on the other end of an ambush for a change.

Remy had led the guy to the door and now she was making a show of fumbling for the lock. Bobby could tell the guy was growing impatient. He was a big guy and could do some serious damage if he wanted to. At the moment, he was leaning against Remy and slowly running a finger up and down her arm. He could tell she was trying not to squirm and he had to fight the urge to rip that fucking finger out of its socket.

"If you don't hurry, we may have to just get down to business out here," the thug growled in her ear as he pushed her hair back and pressed his lips to the back of her neck. Bobby's grip tightened on the gun he was holding, but he couldn't make his move yet, not while Remy was in the way. As if she could sense Bobby's dilemma, she took a step back, giggling nervously as she rifled through her key ring.

"Don't be silly," she said. "I've got the stupid key here somewhere." She dropped the keys, most likely on purpose, and stooped down to find them. The thug reached out and grabbed her arm. His jacket swung forward and Bobby could see the gun tucked into his waistband.

"I'm fucking serious, bitch." The guy tightened his grip and Bobby could see that Remy was biting down hard on her lip to keep from crying out. Using his free hand,the bastard reached for his belt and started undoing the buckle.

Without giving it a second thought, Bobby barreled out of the shadows from his hiding place and tackled headlong into the guy's side, dropping his gun in the process, but he barely noticed that. All he wanted to do was finally punch someone.

The other guy outweighed Bobby by at least fifty pounds, but Bobby had the element of surprise on his side. The guy crashed to the ground, letting go of Remy's arm. She scrambled out of the way, picking up Bobby's gun as he got to work on smashing the asshole's face in.

It took the guy a minute or two to recover and it wasn't like he was going to lie there and let Bobby beat the shit out of him. He came up swinging, and Bobby took a fist or two in the ribs, the pain only making him angrier.

"You're Bobby Mercer, aren't you?" the guy managed to gasp out as they circled one another. Bobby shrugged and the other guy smiled, his teeth bloody. "Of course you are. Don't fuckin' matter if you answer or not. Sweet wants you dead and what Sweet wants, he gets." His hand moved quickly for his gun, but Remy was faster. The shithead was dead before he hit the pavement, a bullet between his eyes.

"Well that went well," she said, her voice trembling slightly. Bobby looked back at her, half expecting her to break down, but she looked steady and calm, all things considered. He suddenly had a new appreciation for hot babes in tiny dresses, holding firearms.

XxXxXxXxX

"I'll call Shepard and explain to him that we've got a dead guy on ice between the Budweiser and the Coors Light. He'll handle it," Bobby explained quietly as he opened the door to his apartment. He peeked around the corner, checking for Jack, trying to come up with an excuse if his brother happened to be awake. But there was no Jack and no need to think of a reason for his bloody knuckles and Remy's sudden change in wardrobe.

She was still rubbing her arms like she was cold and he went over to the couch. His duffle bag full of clothes was sitting on the floor next to it and he tossed her an old, worn out jersey that he'd packed. She didn't waste any time in pulling it on over her dress.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She sighed and nodded, pushing her hair off her forehead. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? I mean, we can talk … if you want …" He was pretty sure he looked as uncomfortable as he felt.

"It's okay," she smiled, "we don't need to talk. I'll be alright."

"Good," he said without thinking and he realized how it sounded when she narrowed her eyes at him. He quickly backpedaled. "I mean, good that you're alright, not that you don't need to talk," he said lamely.

She laughed softly. "I know what you meant. And I know that you meant it both ways." He opened his mouth to protest but she held up her hand, cutting him off before he could argue with her. "Cut the bullshit, Bobby. I know you. You hate to talk and you hate to listen even more."

She sank down onto the couch, suddenly looking very tired. "So, what's phase two of this awesome plan of yours?"

XxXxXxXxX

"That is the cutest thing I've ever seen," Remy sighed as she peered over Bobby's shoulder. They were standing above Jack who lay sprawled out across the bed in a tangle of sheets and blankets.

"Yeah, fucking adorable," Bobby said, rolling his eyes.

Bobby found Jack's bag buried under a pile of clothes. He gave it to Remy, who set to work on filling it with whatever she could find in the room that looked like it belonged to his brother. Jack was in a t-shirt and boxers, apparently finding a chance in his drunken state to get ready for bed before passing out.

Remy stepped up next to Bobby and handed him a pair of jeans. "You can't take him out there half naked. Trust me, it's cold."

"He'll survive. It's a bitch just getting him to wear a jacket. Cracker Jack likes the cold." He stuffed the jeans into the bag and zipped it closed.

"At least put some shoes on the poor kid," Remy argued as Bobby stared down at Jack, gauging the best possible way to get his brother down the stairs and into the car without throwing his back out.

It wasn't as hard as he thought it would be and he only came close to dropping Jack down the steps once. "This is like the worst _A-Team_ episode ever," Remy announced as she struggled to help him keep Jack moving forward.

"I love it when a plan comes together," Bobby said between clenched teeth. Skinny as Jack was, he weighed a fucking ton.

Remy groaned. "Of course that would be the only pop culture reference you have ever gotten since I met you."

They made it to the front door of the club and Bobby looked at her and laughed. "Mr. T was the mother fucking bomb. Everyone knows that."

Luckily it was still dark out so they didn't run into anyone as they loaded Jack into the car.

Once finished, Bobby took a quick inventory of everything – Jack was all buckled in and bundled up in a blanket Remy insisted he take with them, all their shit was in the trunk, and he had a wad of money in his pocket that he'd grabbed from the safe in his office. It was a few grand and should be enough to get them where they were going.

There was a tapping on the glass and he rolled his window down, grinning up at Remy.

"So, you're leavin'?" she asked. She was still wearing his jersey and her hair was all rumpled. Anyone looking at her would think she had just had sex, not that she'd just killed a man. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, thankful for the pain that shot across his knuckles, reminding him of the danger they were in. Part of him really wanted to stay put and see what happened from there.

"Always on the move, Remy, you know that."

Shaking her head, she leaned down, looking him in the eye. "Bobby Mercer," she smiled sweetly, chewing her bottom lip.

He leaned closer to her, feeling a pull toward her. He was doing a quick calculation in his head, figuring an hour or so wouldn't hurt their escape – it wasn't like anyone knew about the dead guy in the storage unit yet. He reached out and touched her hand. "Yeah?"

"If you don't fuckin' pay me back, I'm going to hunt you down and kill you."

XxXxXxXxX

Jack yawned loudly and stretched, confused when his arm hit something solid. Rubbing his eyes and squinting at the light that was pouring into his room, he felt even more confused than he had a second ago. The world outside his bedroom was moving. Moving pretty damn fast, actually.

"Huh?" he muttered as he ran a hand through his messy hair. He glanced down and wondered why he was in his boxers and a t-shirt, but still wearing his boots.

He looked to his left; he didn't know why he was surprised, but he was. Bobby was there and Jack realized he was driving. That led to the realization that Jack was in a car. And that they were moving. And that he wasn't wearing anything.

"Bobby," he said, his voice rough and sleepy, "what the fuck happened last night?"


	18. Chapter 18

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _The Thanks I Get_ by Coconut Records

**Chapter 18**

_And this is all the thanks that I get …_

Jack glared at Bobby. His head was pounding and he was feeling vaguely nauseous. That wasn't what was making him irritable him, though. No, it was the fact that his brother was lying to him and doing a pretty lousy job of it, too.

They were in some roadside diner – one of those places with shiny walls and dime jukeboxes on each table. Normally, he'd be flipping through the songs over and over again until Bobby told him to stop. Today, however, all he could manage was the glare, and even that took some effort.

The place was packed with truckers and people traveling through, everyone grabbing a quick breakfast before getting back on the highway. Jack suddenly realized he didn't even know what state they were in. Nothing had made much sense since he woke up in the car that morning and he was beginning to wonder if Oz looked something like a truck stop.

"Remy was pissed at you?" he asked slowly, wincing as the sound of clattering silverware carried over the chatter. "And because you made her mad, we had to leave in the middle of the night?"

"Morning," Bobby corrected quickly and Jack sighed.

"You think that makes sense?" Jack was still having trouble wrapping his head around everything and part of him was convinced he was still back in Chicago in bed, sound asleep – not in some ass backwards town in the middle of nowhere.

Bobby shrugged. "She was really pissed."

The waitress appeared, carrying a coffee pot and Jack turned his cup over without taking his eyes off his brother, looking for a sign that something was up. He nodded his thanks to the waitress after she finished pouring. They both ordered, though Jack wasn't sure he could actually stomach food at the moment. Coffee might be pushing it as it was.

"Pissed. Right," Jack said, shaking his head as he poured a steady stream of sugar into his cup.

Bobby sat up straighter in the booth and Jack could tell he was getting angry at him, that he was pushing buttons he should just leave alone. Somehow, having a hangover had given him courage and he just couldn't seem to keep his mouth shut. He figured he should take advantage of it while he had the chance.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Bobby asked sharply and Jack gave a half-hearted laugh.

"Nothing, man. Just that you always drop everything and disappear, only you're draggin' me along with you this time." Jack kept his head down as he stirred his coffee, but he could tell that Bobby was giving him his patented "I'm going to beat the fucking shit out of you" look. Bobby didn't like it when people tried to figure him out, tried to explain why he did the things he did, why he was the way he was. The only person he would ever let talk to him like that was their mother, and even she'd had him blow up in her face more than a couple of times over it.

"Ma always hated it when you did that, you know - left without warning," Jack said quietly, remembering how Evelyn would call up the stairs in the morning for Bobby to come down for breakfast and how her expression would change on those mornings he didn't appear. The corners of her mouth would drop a little and her eyes would grow sad. Not like she'd cry or anything, just look a little defeated. She'd keep the smile for Jack so he wouldn't catch on that she was worried or upset, but he could tell.

Nine times out of ten, Bobby didn't show for breakfast because he was still wasted from the night before or nursing some new injury, but every so often it would be because he had up and left in the middle of the night. There was never any note or warning, just a random phone call that he'd finally remember to make a day or two later, letting Evelyn know he was still alive.

Bobby leaned back in his seat, the pink leather creaking as he moved. He crossed his arms over his chest. "She understood why I had to leave."

Jack shook his head. "No, she wanted you to think she understood, but she didn't, not really."

"Ma's the one who made me leave in the first place," Bobby explained evenly.

The waitress was suddenly at the table, cutting off Jack before he could respond. She quickly dropped their plates on the table and tore off the check, tucking it under the bottle of ketchup. Jack looked down at his plate of scrambled eggs and bacon and his stomach did a weird flip-flop thing. Groaning, he pushed his plate away and Bobby laughed at him.

"Told ya you weren't ready to start drinkin' again."

"Whatever," Jack said, picking up the fork and stabbing at the eggs to spite his brother. He took a bite and forced himself to swallow.

"They don't print those warnings on the pill bottle for kicks, ya know." Bobby wasn't going to let it drop and Jack grabbed the ketchup, dumping some onto his plate, hoping that would somehow make the eggs more appetizing.

"You're just trying to change the subject," he muttered.

"And you're just trying to keep from puking your fucking guts out," Bobby said with a smug grin.

Jack ignored Bobby as he spread his eggs and hash browns around in the ketchup. His stomach lurched a bit at the site and he looked away, pretending to be interested in the view out the window. The parking lot was full and he aimlessly looked over cars and trucks, not really noticing anything out of the ordinary until something clicked in his brain.

"Bobby," he started.

"Hmph," Bobby grunted through a mouthful of food.

Jack dropped his fork and leaned forward against the table. "Why are most of the cars from Iowa?"

Bobby swallowed and shrugged. "Because we're in Iowa."

"Since when is Iowa on the way to Michigan?"

"We ain't headed to Michigan." Bobby took a bite of toast, looking completely calm and put together, like they were discussing the weather. Jack closed his eyes, suddenly close to a breaking point he didn't even realize he had.

"Bobby …"

"You weren't makin' the decision, so I made it for you. You can thank me later."

"We're driving to California?"

Bobby nodded.

"Because …"

"Just because." Bobby hesitated and for the first time that morning there was a crack in his defenses.

"You're full of shit," Jack said sharply. "Something's up."

Bobby's answer was a half-assed shrug and Jack stared blankly at his plate. Suddenly his whole world was overwhelmed by noise – the couple talking behind them, the waitress taking an order, some kid at the counter giggling as he spun around on his stool, Bobby slurping his coffee. He pushed his hands through his hair, feeling claustrophobic and trapped.

Shoving his plate away, he grabbed his jacket. "I need some air," he said roughly as he pulled himself to his feet. He'd left his cane in the car and his exit from the diner wasn't the most graceful one, but he had to get out of there.

"Jack," Bobby called out lamely as Jack made his way down the aisle. He fished a cigarette from his jacket pocket and had it lit before the door to the place swung shut behind him.

Bobby didn't show until he was on his second one. He was leaning against their car, hoping the cigarettes would calm him down a little bit. He'd tossed his jacket across the hood of the car, welcoming the cold bite of the air as he stood out there in his t-shirt.

Bobby walked over and sat next to him on the car's bumper. He shoved his hands into his pockets and aimlessly kicked a rock into the tire of the SUV parked next to them as Jack silently took another drag from his cigarette.

"What? No Surgeon General warning about how smoking is bad for me?" Jack asked dryly as he finished up and dropped the butt on the ground, crushing it beneath the toe of his boot.

"Nah, figured I shouldn't bother. Little Jackie knows best. When we cross a bridge, I'll stop so you can jump off that, too." That time, the rock actually hit the side of the truck and Bobby grinned.

"I don't need a fucking babysitter."

"Never said you did."

Jack shook his head and gave a tired laugh. "Well, you keep acting like one. I don't need you to take care of me like I'm some stupid little kid."

Bobby pushed away from the car and started to pace. Jack had obviously touched a nerve. "Whatever it is, I can take it, man," he said to his brother's back. "You gotta give me some credit here."

Bobby stopped in his tracks and stood as still as a statue, his shoulders slumped like he'd lost a battle.

"You've been actin' strange, Bobby, and I don't just mean today. You didn't need me to go with you to Chicago and you sure as hell couldn't care less about some lady in California." Bobby looked over at him and Jack tried to keep his face blank, to not let his older brother know that he was half-terrified of getting some sort of Michigan Mauler beat down for daring to call him on his shit.

Bobby stalked over to him. "Fine, you wanna know, I'll tell you," Bobby shot at him angrily. "It's Sweet."

Jack felt the blood drain from his face. "He's dead."

"He's dead, but his daddy ain't. And he's mad and he wants fucking revenge. Two guesses who he threatened to take out first."

"I can take care of myself," Jack said steadily. "We didn't have to leave …"

"Yes we fucking did. I can't let you get hurt again."

"I can take care of myself," Jack repeated, suddenly growing angry even though he wasn't quite sure what he should be angry about.

"Right," Bobby said with a hollow laugh. "Like you did before."

"Fuck you, man." Jack stood up and limped over to the driver's side door. He opened it and leaned in, pressing the button to pop the trunk. He slowly made his way to the back of the car, ignoring his brother. He pulled his duffle bag from the trunk and swung it over his good shoulder. He looked down at his guitar case, hesitating for a second before grabbing that as well.

"What the hell are you doing?" Bobby asked as Jack slammed the trunk closed, not caring that they were now drawing the attention of people leaving the diner.

"Going home," he answered as he gripped the handle of the case. It was heavy and pulled on his shoulder, but he wasn't about to let Bobby know how much it hurt.

"Oh, well, don't let me stop you," Bobby said loudly as he opened the car door and reached in for something. He reappeared with Jack's cane, which he unceremoniously tossed to him. Jack watched as it clattered to the ground.

"You can carry that in your teeth as you hitchhike back to Detroit."

"Go to hell," Jack said, wishing he could come up with a better comeback but blaming his hangover for his unoriginality. This whole day was sliding from bad to down right fucked-up.

Bobby sighed and leaned his arm against the roof of the car. "Please just get in the goddamn car, Jack. I'll tell you everything and then we can figure out what to do from there."

Jack glanced around the parking lot and the empty road behind his brother. "Everything?" he asked, shifting the strap on the duffle bag before it slipped of his shoulder.

"Everything," Bobby said, his expression grim but determined. "I fucking swear."

XxXxXxXxXx

"Jack knows everything," Bobby said into the phone as he slumped back onto the lumpy motel bed.

"'Bout damn time," Jerry responded. "And …"

"And, he's a little pissed." Bobby looked over at the other bed in the room. Jack was propped up against the headboard, tapping a pen on an open notebook as he listened to some shitty music on his headphones. Bobby could hear the music clear across the room and it took all his willpower not to tell him to turn it down before he went deaf. It suddenly dawned on him that Jack did have a point – he wasn't sure when it had happened, but he had somehow turned into a boring nag.

Once he'd finally convinced Jack to get in the damn car, Bobby had laid out every little detail of the shit that had been going on for the past few weeks. Jack sat there in silence, staring out the window in the morose way he had sometimes. If Bobby didn't know better, he would think the kid was daydreaming about guitars or sequins or whatever the fuck it was that Jack thought about. But he'd heard every word and despite all evidence to the contrary, Bobby could tell his brother was angry, whether it was at him or at Sweet, he couldn't be sure.

Once he'd finished with his laundry list of why they had to get out of Detroit, Jack then proceeded to spend the rest of the drive as a mute, ignoring him and doing his best to make him feel like shit for not letting him in on the whole thing from the beginning. Bobby pulled over at a crappy motel a few hours before he'd planned on stopping because he couldn't take the silent treatment anymore and he needed a beer, badly.

"Man, 'I told you so' sounds so sweet at this moment," Jerry laughed and Bobby rolled his eyes. He could hear him talking to Angel in the background, filling him in on the fact that they had been right and he'd been wrong.

"So, you kidnapped Jack," Jerry continued.

"I did not kidnap Jack," Bobby shot back.

"Yes you did," Jack responded from his side of the room. It was the first thing he'd said in hours.

"Who asked you?" Bobby said. "And how the fuck did you hear me over that noise?"

Jack gave him the finger and went back to whatever the hell it was that he was doing.

"Sounds like things are going well." Bobby could just picture Jerry's huge, shit eating grin as he soaked in every second of Bobby's misery.

"Oh, we're having a grand old time."

"Put Jackie on, Sofi has a question for him," Jerry said.

Bobby gave a derisive laugh as he held out the phone to his brother, who had apparently gone back to ignoring him. He shook the phone impatiently but Jack still didn't respond.

Grunting, he pushed himself off the bed and crossed the two feet of space separating the beds. Smacking Jack on the head with the phone, he said, "Princess, your queen is on the phone and wishes to speak to you."

Rubbing his head with one hand, Jack pulled off his headphones and glared up at his brother. "What?" he asked angrily.

"Phone. It's Bridezilla. Didn't she turn on the Batcrazy Signal to alert you?"

Jack stared at the phone as though he was weighing his options. Bobby dropped it in his lap, making the decision for him.

Bobby went back to his bed, grabbing the remote, grimacing at the fact that it was attached to the TV by an annoying cord. He'd have to spring for a nicer hotel next time – one that didn't bolt everything down because most of their customers paid by the hour or were on the run from the law.

He grabbed the two lumpy pillows the DisComfort Inn provided and propped them against the rickety head board. Settling back, he grabbed his beer and flipped through the five stations seventy bucks a night bought you in this town. He kept the volume low when he realized Jack was talking kind of quietly, like he didn't want him to hear.

Pushing the volume even lower, he leaned a little closer to listen in. Jack had rolled onto his side to face the wall and he was mumbling something, and Bobby had to concentrate to make it out.

"Uh, yeah, sure. That would look good. Really. Yes, I mean it. I have no reason to lie." Jack sighed heavily and was quiet for several minutes and Bobby leaned in closer, balancing precariously on the sagging edge of the mattress.

"I swear. Bobby looks great in pink. He'll love it."

"Fuck that," Bobby growled as the mattress suddenly gave way and he fell to the floor, spilling his beer all over himself and the already stained carpet.

Jack rolled over and looked at his brother, a slightly evil grin on his face as he spoke carefully into the phone, his cheerful tone exaggerated and forced. "And ruffles, too? That's perfect."

Bobby rushed over, dripping wet with beer, and tried to grab the phone from his brother. Jack easily dodged him, holding out his hand as he pushed him away.

"Bobby just gave me the thumbs up," he said, somehow managing not to sound like he was in the middle of a wrestling match. "Yeah, he's totally on board with a hot pink ruffled shirt. He can't wait."

Jack finished the call and handed the phone back to Bobby with a shrug. "Payback's a bitch, man."


	19. Chapter 19

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _You're the Best_ by Joe Esposito

**Chapter 19**

_Try to believe  
Though the going gets rough  
That you gotta hang tough to make it_

Angel stared at the paper plate in front of him and tried to gather the strength needed to pick up the plastic fork. He couldn't believe it had come to this. Hell, he didn't even know such a thing was possible. But the truth was staring him right in the face and he couldn't deny it.

He was tired of cake.

Abso-fucking-lutely tired of cake. He couldn't bring himself to take another bite. He just couldn't. How Sofi could take bite after bite, cleaning off each plate that was placed in front of her, was beyond him.

This was not what he had envisioned when he told Sofi he'd go with her to the bakery today. Well, more like he grumbled "okay" and she yanked him up by the arm and pushed him out the door. He thought it would be cool, free cake. But no, someone managed to find a way to fuck that up.

How many possible combinations could there be? Why do women have to make everything so goddamned complicated? Chocolate cake, chocolate icing. Done. Simple. No need for rose scented vanilla buttercream laced with essence of whatever the fuck that lady had said it was laced with. Just give him a beer and Ding Dong and he was a happy man.

Sofi, of course, was enjoying every second of it. This wedding crap was like her nirvana or something. She had finally found a way to channel all her energy. In a way it was good, because it threw all the yelling and nagging off him and onto the bakers, and florists, and whoever else you hand all your money over to when you don't get your way and elope.

He'd been involved in missions that weren't as complicated as this damn wedding. Shit, he knew a Marine or two who would have their balls handed to them by Sofi if they fucked this up; he had no clue how the bakery owner could sit there with her plastic smile and blank expression and not be scared out of her fucking wits.

This whole thing was moving so damn fast and he had no idea how giving Sofi a ring had led to tasting fifty varieties of cake and getting fitted for tuxes and picking out venues and dj's and all that shit in such a short amount of time. He glanced over at her, she was scraping the paper plate with her fork, gathering up the last bit of crumbs and icing. She made a moaning sound that was a little too close for comfort to the sounds she made in the bedroom and her tongue darted out, licking a crumb from the corner of her mouth. Angel shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable as hell.

Sofi glanced over at him and narrowed her eyes. "Baby," she said, "you haven't touched your cake. Don't you like it?"

He shrugged. "I'm fine. Pick whichever one you want."

Her shoulders grew stiff – he could sense the change in her immediately and he sat up, slowly uncrossing his legs, bracing for a quick escape. "But, sweetheart, the idea is that you help chose the cake. That you are a part of this." She smiled as she spoke, but her eyes were growing cold and were starting to get that weird glint to them that he swore was some sort of estrogen fueled lie detector. He knew the wrong answer would fuck up the rest of the day, but he couldn't even guess what the right answer would be at that point.

He glanced at the bakery owner, but she might as well have been invisible for all the help she was offering. She was giving him a look that mirrored Sofi's, like he'd just announced he liked to kick puppies for fun and set churches on fire. He really couldn't see what the big deal was.

"Look, baby, I know this means a lot to you," he started carefully and Sofi kept staring at him, unblinking. "I just don't get what the big rush is." He immediately wished he could take back the words the second he spoke them. He didn't even know where they had come from; he sure as hell hadn't planned on painting such a huge target on his forehead.

Sofi's mouth dropped open. "I'll, uh, be right back," the other woman said quickly, gathering up some papers and hastily leaving the table. "I have a phone call I have to make," she explained lamely as she made her way to the back room.

Angel groaned and poked his fork into the cake, watching as the top layer tumbled over, exposing the orange jam underneath.

"You don't get what the big rush is?" Sofi was not happy with him, and he decided staring at the table was his best course of action. She could argue just fine without him saying anything anyway. She had a knack for filling in his side of the conversation, so he figured he'd just let her have at it. "The rush is that we need to get married before you get called back to the Marines. I don't want to wait another six, seven, eight months for you to show back up in Detroit."

Okay, maybe her argument wasn't what he was expecting. "What?"

"The Marines," she repeated.

"I heard you, baby – I just don't see what they have to do with this." The fork pressed down on the cake, smushing the layers together. He absentmindedly started spreading the pink icing around on the plate.

"You're going to have to leave soon and I'm not going to let you go until I have that ring on my finger." To emphasize her point, she held up her hand, the engagement ring glinting in the sunlight coming through the shop window like it was flashing Morse code for "You're fucked now".

Leaning forward in his chair and bracing his forearms on the table, he said, "About that …"

"¿Què?" Her eyebrow raised and her lips pursed, she crossed her legs and the top one started to bounce up and down, pounding out the rhythm of her growing anger.

"Baby, I've been out of the Marines for close to a year now." He went back to destroying the cake and her leg stopped bouncing altogether; he had a feeling that wasn't a good sign.

"But you've been in Vegas, where the base is."

"Yeah, I've been in Vegas, but not on the base."

"When were you planning on coming home?" He shrugged and she uncrossed her legs and pushed her chair back from the table. "You weren't coming home, were you?" He remained silent and she stood up and grabbed her purse from the back of her chair. Her heels banged out a vicious staccato beat on the floor as she stormed out of the bakery, the bell on the door ringing out like his death knell.

"Shit," he grumbled as he picked up the fork and took a bite of the mangled cake. "Knew I shoulda gone with Bobby. I fucking knew it."

XxXxXxXxXx

Jerry stared blankly at the guy in front of him. He heard the words he was saying, but he was having trouble processing them. This couldn't be happening, not again.

"I've reviewed the project and I'm afraid we won't be able to provide the funding we discussed earlier. As you are aware, when we last talked, we were still at the preliminary stages and nothing had been confirmed." Councilman Grey had said that or some variation of it three times in the last fifteen minutes.

Jerry took a moment to gather his thoughts; he looked around, taking in the details he had missed when he first arrived. He had been excited; today was the day he was going to finally sign on the dotted line and get his project moving forward, today was the day he could stop talking and start acting.

He felt like kicking himself when he realized the office had been remodeled. Grey was sitting at a huge, expensive desk, the dark wood polished so brightly that you could practically see your reflection in it. The walls behind him were lined with bookcases and artwork, every thing screamed money – something you don't see very often in an office of a government official in Detroit. It was quite the upgrade from Douglas's old digs, that was for sure. Unlike Douglas, Grey obviously liked to flaunt his money and new-found connections.

Jerry felt like he was going to lose his cool. He ran his hand over his tie, smoothing it out over the dress shirt he had put on that morning especially for the meeting. Clearing his throat, he spoke as steadily as he could muster. "I'm not going to get the loan."

"I'm sure you can understand. It's a high risk investment and the city -"

"Is going back on their word. Again," Jerry interrupted, his patience wearing thin.

"Perhaps if you come at the project from a different angle."

"Which angle would that be? The one that puts me in the pocket of some gangsters?"

The councilman flinched. "Mr. Mercer, I assure you that there's nothing of that sort going on here."

"Bullshit," Jerry spat out, suddenly not caring if he lost his cool or not. "This is the same load of garbage I was handed before by Douglas. This whole goddamn city is corrupt."

"Nothing was ever found to back-up your accusations about Councilman Douglas."

"Except that you all found his body in a ditch with one of Victor Sweet's slugs between his eyes. Sure, nothing fishy about that." Jerry grabbed the file he had placed on the desk and reached over for his briefcase, shoving the papers inside and clicking the lid closed, all the while shaking his head in disgust.

"That was ruled a robbery," Grey argued and Jerry gave a cynical laugh.

"Oh, right. I must have missed that story while I was waiting by my baby brother's bedside, watching him fight for his life after being all shot up on our murdered mother's front yard." Jerry stood up, his actions jerky and angry – he was really approaching his breaking point.

He just couldn't catch a break. Maybe he should just give up on this city, move out of Detroit and build some condos in Florida, something simple like that. Thing was, he saw something in his city, something beneath the surface, something he was certain he could show people if he just scratched at it hard enough to reveal it. He was tired of the filth, and the corruption, and the crime. He wanted Detroit to be a place he could be proud of, a place his kids could be proud of. He just couldn't understand why people like Grey and Douglas allowed themselves to be intimidated and strong-armed into letting the lowest common denominator win out and destroy the place, pissing on the foundations built by people who worked hard to make something of themselves.

He stormed to the door, grabbed the handle. He was ready to leave, he'd had enough, but something made him stop. Turning around, he looked at Councilman Grey, in his nice suit, hundred dollar haircut and big shiny desk. "Tell Roy Sweet the Mercers say hi. Hope you know what you've gotten yourself into, man. Worked out great for Douglas."

He slammed the door, not waiting for Grey to reply. Drained, he leaned back against the door and closed his eyes, defeated.

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack pushed his plate across the table at Bobby and crossed his arms. Bobby looked up, about to take a bite of a messy burger that was piled high with the works – Bobby could taste it just by looking at it and he was looking forward to that first bite like a teenage virgin looks forward to their first kiss. He was going to savor every fucking moment.

Jack sighed just as Bobby was about to take that bite.

"What?" he asked, irritated.

"Don't you want to cut it up for me?" Jack asked, nodding toward the chicken strips and fries on his plate. "I can't be trusted, you know. I could slip and cut my arm off."

Bobby dropped his burger with a groan and glared at his little brother. This shit was getting tiresome. "Enough, Jack – your panties can't still be in a twist over this. Grow the fuck up."

Jack made a show of looking at his watch. "Oh, man – you're right. Jesus, time's up on me being pissed at you. Sorry about that." He slouched in his seat, looking for all the world like a pouting five year old. He picked up his knife and started banging out some beat on the table, a habit Jack knew Bobby hated. Jack narrowed his eyes, practically daring him to say something.

Clearing his throat and trying to reign in his anger, Bobby sat up in his seat and leaned forward. "Jack, what's done is done. We need to fucking move on and figure out what we're going to do next." Bobby mentally patted himself on the back for keeping his voice even and low, and he only clenched his fists once, before resting his hands one top of the table, calmly.

"I don't know – Bumblefuck, Iowa is looking pretty good to me." Jack spoke a little too loudly and a woman at the table next to their booth looked over and glared at them. "Maybe we could just move here."

"We ain't movin' to fuckin' Iowa." The lady glared again and Bobby fought the urge to flip her off. "It's simple – we're just going to take a nice road trip, kill time while Angel and Jerry take care of things back home."

"'Cause there's nothing I'd rather do than spend a week trapped in that piece-of-shit car with you."

"My car is not a piece of shit," Bobby shot back.

Jack laughed and shook his head. "Yes it is."

"Fuck you, Jackie."

"Whatever, man." Jack looked down and started to push things around on his plate with his fork. He was quiet all of a sudden – not that pissy quiet where he was trying to prove a point – no, this was the "Jack is having deep thoughts" quiet that usually put Bobby on edge.

"I apologized," Bobby said, not sure why he felt the need to state the fucking obvious.

"I know you did," Jack said quietly.

Bobby shrugged and took a bite of his burger, not enjoying it as much as he hoped. Jack's mood was ruining his appetite.

"Fine," he groaned, dropping the half eaten burger again. "Spit it out. I've had enough."

The corner of Jack's mouth quirked up and he laughed, it was a harsh sound, no humor in it at all. "Right. 'Cause this is all about you."

"Jack stop fucking talking in riddles. Just say it so I can move on with my goddamn life and eat my fucking burger." That made the lady clear her throat dramatically and look over at them yet again. Bobby sneered and flipped her the bird; her look of outrage took his mind of his troubles for a second.

Jack sighed and closed his eyes. "It's just that I thought …" He paused, taking a deep breath. "I thought things were gonna be different – that you would stop looking at me like your kid brother -"

"Jack," Bobby interrupted, "you'll always be my kid brother."

Jack ignored him and continued. "That you would stop looking at me like the little kid who had to be protected and shielded from everything." Jack's jaw twitched and Bobby could tell that he was struggling with telling him this shit.

Jack dropped his fork and pushed the plate away. "I guess I just figured that since you had me help you out with finding out who," he swallowed heavily, "who killed Ma that it meant you finally realized I wasn't some stupid fuck-up, but I guess I was wrong." He shrugged. "Forget I said anything – I'm just being fucking stupid."

Bobby stared at him, not sure what to say. "It's not stupid," he started slowly.

"Right, but I'm just being a fairy. Ain't I always, Bobby?" Jack looked him right in the eye. "Only now I'm a fairy who can barely walk and who can't even take care of himself."

Bobby felt like he'd been hit in a chest with a sledgehammer. "That's not what I meant."

"Well, that's how it feels. And I know I'm just supposed to suck it up and not say anything and just deal with this shit because I'm lucky to be alive." Jack picked up his knife and ran his thumb over the blade. "Well, I don't always feel so lucky, you know."

"Jack --"

"Look, we'll do your dumbass plan. We'll go to California, look at the fucking ocean and then turn around and come home. Happy?" Jack dropped the knife and picked up a french fry, banging it against the plate a couple of times before finally taking a bite.

"It's not a dumbass plan," Bobby argued with a grin.

"Yes it is," Jack said, his mouth stuffed with more fries.

"My plans are always very well thought out and organized."

Jack grunted in disbelief and took a sip of soda. "You're wingin' it."

"Am not."

"Are, too."

Bobby picked up his burger and shrugged. "So what if I'm wingin' it. Beats sittin' in Detroit, hanging out with Sofi as Jerry starts bossing people around at work. You do remember he threatened to give us all jobs."

Jack laughed and the tension seemed to ease from his shoulders. "Okay, you may have a point there."

"Fucking right I do."

XxXxXxXxXx

Angel was sitting at the bar at Johnny G's, nursing a bottle of beer, running his fingers through the condensation forming on the glass. He'd stopped in to see if Johnny had any information for him, but it was nothing new. Roy Sweet had yet to make an appearance and until he did, Angel and Jerry were left with nothing to do but sit around and stare at each other.

Jerry came up behind him. Shrugging off his jacket, he nodded hello at Johnny before taking his usual seat at the bar. He looked like Angel felt – beat to hell.

"This is turning out to be the worst plan Bobby has ever had," Jerry said as he grabbed his beer from Johnny.

Angel sighed as he took a sip of his drink. "I think I'm beginning to agree with you."


	20. Chapter 20

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _The Good Old Days_ by The Eels.

**Chapter 20**

_As the hours turn into days_

_  
Pretty soon lost in the haze_

Jack stared out the window. According to the sign they passed a few miles back, they were in Nebraska. Looked pretty much just like Iowa. At least the drive to New York went through cities and towns and the landscape changed. Here it felt like one big field – brown and blue as far as the eye could see. He supposed it could inspire a song – some sort of Kerouac-like view of the road and Americana, but all it inspired in him was a yawn and his second nap of the day since getting in the car before the sun came up.

He looked over at his brother. Bobby's eyes were trained straight ahead, not wavering even a fraction of an inch as he stared at the empty road that stretched out in front of them. He had the grumpiest look on his face and Jack had to fight the urge to laugh. Between the two of them, they were probably the most miserable people ever to go on a cross-country car ride. Forget waxing poetic about the countryside, it looked like they were about to go murder someone. Of course, all things considered, that wasn't that far from the truth. Despite how hard Bobby tried to escape whatever danger he thought was hot on their heels, Jack had a feeling it was only a matter of time before they were in the crosshairs once again. Just the thought of someone pointing a gun at him again made his stomach twist and his hands shake.

Swallowing heavily, Jack decided it was time to bring up something he had been thinking about all night – ever since he'd given up falling asleep in the shitty motel bed. "There's stuff we need," he said, tapping a beat out on the window as he returned his gaze to the cows and dead cornstalks. "Supplies, shit like that. And we gotta stop making this up as we go along." He knew that last part would piss off Bobby and he was waiting for his brother to argue with him, to shoot it down and call him stupid.

"Fine, genius. What do we need?"

Jack narrowed his eyes – that was too easy. "I made a list," he said slowly, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It didn't take long.

"A list?" Bobby was shaking his head, screwing up his face in his patented give-me-a-fucking-break look. "You know - you keep sayin' you ain't gay but that seems like a pretty gay thing to do."

Ignoring his brother, Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Bobby snorted a laugh. "You fucking wrote it down?"

Still ignoring his brother, Jack cleared his throat and started to read. "Number one - directions."

"I got directions. Go west. There. Done. Directions."

"Those aren't directions."

"Chicks need maps and pansy-ass directions. Relax and enjoy the fucking ride." Bobby didn't exactly look relaxed, but Jack was too tired to point that out.

"I want a gun." He felt silly for even having to ask, but he knew Bobby's response before he even opened his mouth to answer.

"Not a chance," Bobby said and Jack noticed that his hands were twisting around the steering wheel, like he was trying to strangle it. Or him. Whichever was closer at hand.

"Nice," Jack said with a tired laugh. "So you can drag me across the country, lie to me, let me wander around clueless, but you won't let me have a fucking gun?"

"Damn straight," Bobby said without even glancing at him and Jack decided to shelve the topic for later. It wasn't like they were going to get shot at anytime soon, at least not before lunch, so he'd worry about it later.

He looked back down at his list.

"Clean underwear."

Bobby shifted in his seat. He'd run out of clean briefs and thought going commando wasn't a bad idea – better than alternative. He was wrong and the long drive was made even longer with the denim scratching in places he wasn't used to denim scratching.

"Fine, I'll give you that one."

XxXxXxXxXx

"Since when did you start eating like a bratty four year old?" Bobby was rifling through the cart as he and Jack stood in line at Walmart's pharmacy counter. "Ding Dongs, Twinkies, Twizzlers. What the fuck is a Zebra Cake? Pork rinds …" Bobby's voice trailed off and Jack shrugged.

"We gotta eat and they're on the -"

"List. I know," Bobby finished for him.

"It's not my fault you forgot the essentials when you kidnapped me." Jack was leaning on the cart, trying to keep his weight off his leg. The long car ride was starting to take its toll and he'd taken his last pain pill the night before. He'd missed two therapy appointments during this exercise in futility and he'd always practiced the whole "if you aren't being forced to do it, why bother?" school of thought when it came to working out. He was paying the price for it now and dreaded having to go back to the hospital and explain to his therapist why he could barely walk again.

The line inched forward and Jack moved too fast without thinking and had to bite back a groan as his knee threatened to buckle underneath him.

"You're in pain," Bobby said, his voice tight. It was a statement not a question and Jack shrugged again.

"I'm always in pain," he admitted as he took an awkward, lopsided step forward.

"Jack …" Bobby had a concerned look on his face and that made Jack more uneasy than any teasing and insults the guy could come up with.

"Whatever, man," he interrupted before his brother could say something deep and meaningful – chances were it was going to be another apology. "Once I get the pills, I'll be fine," he lied.

XxXxXxXxXx

Bobby filled the trunk with their bags, stuffing them in between the guns, the gas can, and Jack's guitar. He'd let Jack get every stupid thing on his list. He had to give the kid credit, he was stubborn as hell and no amount of ragging on him made him back down. Bobby was pretty sure half the shit on that list was just a test – see how far he could push him. If snack cakes made Jack feel like he'd won some dumbass victory – well, never let it be said that Bobby Mercer didn't support his brothers.

He was about to close the trunk when something caught his eye and he grinned.

Jack was fiddling with the radio when he got into the driver's seat. "Here ya go, sweetheart. I know how much you missed it," he said as he dropped the item in his brother's lap.

Jack picked it up and rolled his eyes. "Fuck you, Bobby."

"Any dumbshit can shoot a gun – it takes skill to take someone out with a crowbar. You should thank me."

"Thank you for being a giant dickhead?"

"You're welcome."

XxXxXxXxXx

"Just turn the fucking radio off, Jack. I'm tired of hearing that country shit and the farm reports, and I'm not in the mood to be saved today. Me and God already have an understanding."

"Whatever," Jack mumbled as he shut off the radio and slouched in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. "Couldn't you at least get a car with a CD player, man? Shit, even an eight track would be a step up. Stupid car is older than me."

Bobby reached out and ran his hand over the dashboard, a hurt look in his eyes. "That's my baby you're talkin' about there. And she's a classic, not old." Jack snorted a laugh and Bobby glared at him.

Jack leaned his head back and closed his eyes, a crooked grin on his face. "Classic, right. What color is that paint job? Metallic dog shit?"

"You're just jealous – what do you drive in New York? A Neon?"

"Don't need a car in New York."

"So you don't even have a fucking car but you're gonna rag on mine? Like I said, jealous."

Jack didn't answer and tried to sink lower in his seat to find a comfortable position. It wasn't working. His knee was throbbing, despite the pain pill he took while in the checkout line at Walmart. His shoulder was also bugging him and now the car was so quiet that he couldn't fall asleep.

"Are we there yet?" he asked through a yawn. Bobby laughed and rolled down his window a little, letting in some cool air and the sound of the road. It was better than the silence.

"What are your plans" Jack asked, giving up on his nap.

"Get to California. See a palm tree. Drive home. Keep your skinny ass alive."

Jack rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant. I meant after – after all this shit is done and people stop wanting to kill us."

Bobby raised his hand and leaned his elbow on the door, banging his knuckles against the window frame. "Not sure. I hadn't really thought about it."

"You gonna leave?"

"Maybe. Maybe not." Bobby looked over at Jack. "How about you? What's your master plan?"

Jack sat up a little and leaned his head against the window. "Not sure."

"New York?"

Jack shrugged. He missed it, but at the same time, he didn't. It was weird. Once he'd stepped off the train all those years ago, he'd felt like he'd finally found the place he belonged.

Detroit was home. Well, Evelyn was home. Detroit just happened to be where she was. But New York … New York was the vibe and the energy and the life he'd been missing while he sat around in his friends' garages, playing chords and writing songs. After the shooting, though – it felt like that part of his life had been written, that chapter had come to a close and now he had to turn the page. Problem was, he was pretty sure the next page was blank and that scared the crap out of him.

"Detroit?"

"Maybe," he said quietly. "Probably."

"Well, we can always stick around and take Jerry up on his job offer. Take him about a week to regret that one." Bobby laughed and Jack found himself grinning.

"Not exactly office material?"

"Shit, Jack – do you even know how to tie a fucking tie."

"Do you?" Before Bobby had a chance to answer, Jack's phone started to ring and he dug into the pocket of his jeans to grab it.

"Yeah," he said after flipping it open. He laughed and handed it over to Bobby. "It's for you."

"What?" Bobby grunted into the phone.

"Hey, Thelma, how's Louise holding up?" It was Remy and she sounded far more cheerful than he felt at the moment.

"What?" Bobby repeated and she sighed.

"Never mind, boss. How's the kid?"

Bobby glanced over at Jack who decided to give the radio another shot. "The kid's doin' just fine."

Jack glared at him and flipped him the bird.

Bobby gave an annoyed sigh. "Chill, princess. She's the one who called you a kid – I was just answering the question."

"You should stop calling him a princess," Remy observed.

"Nah, he likes it. Trust me."

"I find that hard to believe, Bobby."

"Did you just call to go all Oprah on my ass and tell me how to treat my little brother, or did you have a real reason for calling? Miss me already?"

"Terribly," she replied dryly. "No, I called to give you an update on the, you know, situation."

"Dead guy still dead?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Update done."

"Bobby," she sighed into the phone and he could picture the look on her face – the one she got whenever she wanted to wring his neck. It was a look he knew well.

"Fine. What else?"

"Shepard took care of the …" she paused and Bobby could hear her take a deep breath, "body."

She sounded kind of fried on that last word and Bobby figured she was having trouble dealing with whole situation. He couldn't blame her – chicks weren't built for killing a guy and then moving on like nothing happened. He had a feeling neither were moody guitarists, which was why he was going to keep giving Jack a hard time about guns for as long as he could. Killing was part of his life, he didn't want to make it part of Jack's and, if he was honest with himself, he felt guilty for having to lay that shit on Remy's doorstep, but hadn't really had a choice at the time.

"Told you he'd handle it. Shepard's a good guy; you can trust him."

"So far, no one's come lookin' for him. For the bad guy."

"If our luck holds out, no one will." Jack suddenly laughed and Bobby shot a look at him. "Got a problem there, Cracker Jack?"

"What part of this clusterfuck involves luck?" Jack asked, shaking his head and staring at him in disbelief.

Before Bobby could answer, Remy interrupted. "He's got a point there, Bobby."

"Ya know what – you can both go to hell."

XxXxXxXxXx

The office was in a building that rose high above the city; high above the little people who had to push their way to the top. Roy Sweet had done his share of pushing and pulling and struggling through the years to get to where he was today. There'd been casualties along the way; every great story of success had to be tempered with loss and his was no exception. Sometimes that loss came at his own hand, sacrifices that had to be made, that couldn't be avoided.

There was a time where he would be the one at the end of the gun, doling out punishment and retribution where he saw fit. He liked that feeling, liked that power. But it had been a long time since he'd been that kind of player in the game. Roy had people who did that for him now – people who took his orders without question and kept his empire in line. Only now he was beginning to sense some cracks in the foundation.

"What do you mean, missing?" he growled into the phone as he twisted the heavy signet ring he wore on his right hand. It was a ring he'd taken off the finger of a man he killed a long time ago, a man who'd questioned him and had quickly found that he wasn't going to like the answer.

"Our guy in Chicago didn't check in." He liked hearing the tremble in the other man's voice. He liked that people were scared of him. Even his son, though he'd been an arrogant bastard to everyone else, had a respectful fear of him.

"Chicago. That would be Bobby Mercer's club." Even saying the man's name made his gut flare with rage. He kept his voice even, though.

"Last we heard, he hadn't shown yet. But him and the kid disappeared from Detroit a few days ago." Roy had to give the guy credit – he didn't appear to realize just how dumb he sounded.

"Well, that would certainly seem to be a strange coincidence, wouldn't you say?"

The man on the other end remained silent and Roy gripped the receiver tightly in his hand, wishing he had the idiot in front of him so he could end this inane conversation with a bullet instead of a dial tone. "Wouldn't you say?" Roy repeated.

"Uh, yes, Mr. Sweet. A strange coincidence."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Look into it," the man said, and Roy could sense the uncertainty in his voice. He made a mental note to have the idiot disposed of as soon as his services were no longer needed. He learned a long time ago that you were only as strong as your weakest link. The more he worked with the crew and connections in Detroit, the more certain he was that someone should just go in and level the whole city and start from scratch.

"Look into it. Brilliant idea." He picked up a framed picture on his desk. The face looking back at him was so much like his own when he was that age. His son died too young, before finding his full potential. Bobby Mercer snatched Victor's future away from him and tried to make him a fool, a laughingstock in the process. And now he was trying to make a joke out of him and dodge his threats and make his own rules.

"I also think it's time for a little message," he said, placing the picture back on the desk, and spinning his chair around to look out the window at the New York City skyline. He hadn't gotten to where he was by being weak, by backing down and conceding defeat.

"Bobby Mercer thinks he can simply run away and this will blow over? I think it's time Bobby Mercer found out just how wrong he really is."


	21. Chapter 21

Note: I don't own _Four Brother_ or _I Coulda Been a Contender_ by The Gaslight Anthem

**Chapter 21**

_There's a dirty wind blowing_

_There's a storm front coming_

Jack always hated storms. The crashing thunder and flashing lightning made him think of a terrible fight, fists flying in every direction, blocking out the light in bursts of fury, descending upon him like a hail of bullets.

The weird thing was that even though he knew it was a memory, he never could remember the actual event he flashed back to whenever a storm took him by surprise. He couldn't even tell how old he was – just that he felt very small. All he saw were fists, no faces. Everything was backlit, like he was huddled in the dark corner of a room, maybe a closet, trying to avoid the brunt of the attack.

He tried to steady his breathing, he could feel Bobby's eyes on him, could tell he was watching him as he drove. Jack wanted to yell at him to keep his eyes on the fucking road, not on him, but it was hard to talk as he fought to keep from hyperventilating. It hadn't been this bad in a long time, not by a long shot, but it felt like the last few months were rolling right over him, wrapped up in those dark clouds, the sheets of rain, and the ominous rumbling.

And because they were in the middle of nowhere, there was no place to stop. Nothing. They'd taken a bathroom break on the side of the road a couple of hours ago, pissing into the wind, sharing a spot with a gopher or two and not much else.

The rain that enveloped them had come out of nowhere; it was like a carwash from hell but Jack was actually kind of glad that it was so hard to see out the window. The way their luck was going, a tornado was probably headed straight for them, ready to sweep them up and then drop a fucking house on them. He'd rather just not see that one coming.

XxXxXxXxXx

Remy kicked off her shoes as she fell back onto the unmade bed, a sigh escaping her throat as she settled back against the pillows, ready to sleep for a month. It had been a long couple of days. Between Bobby's return, having to shoot a bad guy in the head, and her roommate entertaining what looked like half the Chicago Bears football team in their apartment, Remy needed a vacation – shit, she'd fucking earned one. She didn't hesitate for a second when Tim suggested she beat it for a couple of days, unplug her phone and disappear.

She'd had great plans for that first night off in what felt like a year – a long soak in a bubble bath, a romance novel she'd put down months ago and had yet to finish, a couple of bottles of red wine, some soulful tunes on her iPod and the world could disappear for an hour or twenty.

Those plans were pretty much toast when she got home and found her roommate entertaining a couple of guys. Things seemed tame at the moment, but she wasn't stupid. Anne may look all sweet and innocent, but anyone who could take their clothes off like she could was well practiced in the art of taking them off more places than just a stage.

She was so tired of the revolving door of strippers she shared rent with. She did it as a favor to Bobby, of course. Girl came to town, got a job at the club, no place to stay – hey, Remy's got a free room. Yet another thing the jackass owed her for. She mentally added it to her list – it was a long list and getting longer by the second. At this rate, she was going to be joined at the hip with Bobby Mercer in the afterlife as he spent all eternity making up for all the shit he kept dumping on her.

She looked up at the ceiling and grimaced. Sticking out her tongue, she flipped the bird, pretending it was Bobby staring down at her from the mirror above the bed. She knew he'd lied when he told her he was getting rid of it. Tacky as hell.

Shifting slightly, the bed started to rock and ripple and she threw her arms out to steady herself. She'd forgotten about the waterbed. Well, truthfully, the few times she'd been in Bobby's apartment, she'd been too preoccupied to care if the mattress made it feel like they were on the deck of the Titanic.

She honestly hadn't planned on breaking into Bobby's apartment – though it wasn't technically breaking in since she had a key – until Anne offered up bachelor number two for her amusement that night. A quick "no thanks" and she haphazardly packed an overnight bag and beat a hasty retreat out of her apartment before the lights were dimmed, the music turned up and things got hot and heavy.

The light outside the window was fading and she realized she hadn't had anything for dinner. Bobby being Bobby, she figured there wasn't shit-all in the place to eat or drink and she was going to have to settle for delivery. She would have to go grocery shopping in the morning, which meant she was going to have to pass on the wine part of her plans, but there was no way in hell she was going to miss out on the bubble bath. Plus, despite the leopard print couches and the mirrored ceiling and the tacky everything else, Bobby's bachelor pad did have one thing that she coveted more than anything in this world – a huge-ass bathtub, complete with Jacuzzi jets and a built in stereo with surround sound.

Pushing herself off the waterbed, she stood, wobbling slightly as she got her balance. She grabbed her bag and headed for the bathroom, humming a Journey tune softly and grinning. A scheme was forming in her mind – she could spend her mini vacation in the apartment and start to plot the redecorating the place desperately needed. Bobby would flip out on her, she knew that, but that only served to sweeten the deal. Anything that made his face turn that shade of dark red that always threatened to send her into a fit of giggles had to be worthwhile. Maybe this whole vacation thing was going to turn out better than she thought.

XxXxXxXxXx

Angel nodded. He realized a long time ago that nodding was easier than actually listening. Sofi grinned at him as she rattled on into the phone she was holding up to her ear and he figured it was the answer she was looking for. It was always the answer she was looking for.

Man, he was bored out of his fucking mind. All he did was make a joke - one little, harmless, kind of funny joke about eloping and she'd flipped a bitch on him and screamed herself silly. He was beginning to think a year out of the Marines was making him soft, taking away his edge. He'd had fucking machine guns fired at him, his life in constant danger, and he'd rarely broken a sweat. Throw one angry fiancée at him and he crumbled like a goddamn china cup under the hoof of a charging bull.

So, take the joke, throw in her whacked out reaction, his inability to stand his ground, and now he was forced to sit in on every teeny tiny decision she made about the wedding to prove his love for her. Every damn one of them. He didn't give a shit about flowers. He couldn't care less about table linens. And who would even notice if every chair got a satin bow tied to it? Shit, what they should do was hang a little noose off the back of each chair. That would be funny as hell.

And don't even get him started on the damn colors. Pink was pink was pink. Didn't fucking matter if you called it primrose, blush, or magenta – it was still fucking pink and he still possessed a pair of balls so he didn't care if the whole damn place was bathed in the color as long as she ordered the right brand of beer, played some Marvin during the reception, and gave him a memorable night after the whole stupid affair was said and done. He was an easy man to please.

She was looking at him again as she hung up the phone, an expectant look in her eyes. Realizing she was waiting for something, probably an answer to a question that had come at such a rapid fire pace that he wouldn't have had any hope in deciphering it even if he had been paying attention, he nodded and she held out her hand, palm up.

"Um …" he started, confused and her eyes narrowed. Fuck. She knew he was zoning out and not "invested" in the menu planning that currently had her tied to the phone as she discussed it with her sister.

"Your keys," she said, her jaw clenching.

He dug into his pocket, pulling out the key ring that used to belong to his mother. He'd somehow wound up the proud owner of her minivan after they realized the cops had it impounded following the shooting. It wasn't exactly the pimped out car he always pictured himself in, but it sure as hell beat the city bus that on a good day smelled like piss and vomit.

"Baby, it's getting late," he protested as he handed over the keys. It was starting to get dark out and all he wanted to do was relax and enjoy a cold beer and watch a movie or something. Anything but wedding planning.

"I already told you, we're going to Beverly's tonight to start work on bridal favors." Her bottom lip jutted out and he sank lower in his seat.

"But, baby …"

"Don't 'but, baby' me. We have an agreement. ¿ Sí? You said you were going to take an interest. You said you were going to help." She got up from the couch and stood over him, one hand on her hip, the other pointing a finger in his face. He tried to sink back further into the cushions, but the wood frame was digging into his back and he had no where else to go. "You are full of mierda, you know that? Mi hermana, Isabella, said not to trust you. That you lied about the Marines and that once a liar always a liar."

"I'm not lying," he said carefully and looked around as discreetly as he could for something to latch onto as an excuse. The phone was sitting on the end table next to him and he picked up the receiver. "Bobby and Jack," he said, pointing to the phone. "They're supposed to call. Any minute now. I'd love to go with you, but I need to take this call."

"Of course, your stupid brother. I should have known." Perhaps bringing up Bobby wasn't the best idea. Any mention of him only ever served to make her angrier, but at least she seemed to be buying it.

She crossed her arms, the keys she was holding banging against her hip as she chewed on her bottom lip. "That little bastard is always ruining everything." She sounded defeated and Angel felt guilt creep up on him. So he lied. Didn't mean Bobby wasn't going to call tonight, just that he didn't know that for sure. Someone had to be here to take it and pass along the information they gathered, which pretty much amounted to jack shit.

Standing up, he went to her and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head. "Baby, I'm really sorry. I'll make it up to you, I swear."

Sofi shifted in his arms, pulling back a little so she could look up at him. "Promise?" she asked softly, her accent almost like a purr.

"Promise," he replied, a grin forming on his lips.

She arched an eyebrow and ran her finger down his chest. "I'm going to hold you to that."

"That's the idea."

XxXxXxXxXx

Lightning flashed through vertical blinds, easily finding gaps in the broken and bent slats. Jack hesitated for a minute, his fingers stilled on the strings of his guitar, the tune halting in the middle of the chorus. He was waiting for it – the thunder – and he silently counted until he heard it, a childish habit he'd picked up from Evelyn who thought it would give him something to focus on during a storm. Something to do besides waiting for the sky to fall down around him. It didn't really help, but it was a habit nonetheless.

Bobby was pacing around the tiny motel room, holding up Jack's cell phone like he was trying to signal the mother ship or something. "Fucking thing is broken," he muttered and Jack sighed.

"There's just no signal," Jack explained for the tenth time.

The lightning had knocked out the power and the phone lines were down too, so the phone in the room was dead. The clerk at the front desk told them not to expect them back anytime soon, that things moved pretty slowly around there and the phone company was slower than molasses in January. Bobby threatened to leave and head back out into the rain and find another place, but Jack just wanted to get the hell out of the storm, lights or no lights.

"What fucking good is this piece of shit if it doesn't work when you need it to?" Bobby bitched. "Goddamn pay phone always works when you need them to. Of course, now that everyone has a fucking cell phone, you can't find a pay phone to save your life."

Jack ignored his brother's latest tirade against the injustices of technology and returned his attention to his guitar and the tune he was working on. Something about the storm finally broke through his barriers, made him need his music again. Well, maybe not break through, but the cracks were at least beginning to show.

He started from the top, singing under his breath as he gently strummed the tune. The quiet and the darkness fit the song, which was a far cry from the loud stuff his band favored. This was an old song, one Evelyn taught him years ago and it always centered him when he needed to block the crap that ran through his brain on nights like this one.

Bobby dropped the phone on the foot of the bed and sank to the floor, his back up against the mattress. He was staring out the window and another flash shot through the room.

As Jack counted, Bobby sighed. "I'm hungry."

The thunder clapped and Jack breathed out the number five. "Uh huh," he muttered, not really listening.

"We got all that food." The rain was steady on the roof and it seemed like that clap of thunder signaled for it to come down even harder.

"Yep."

"In the trunk."

"Yep."

"Fuck." Bobby leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. "There's a bar down the street. Their lights were on. Probably got a generator."

"Yeah?" Jack put his guitar down and fished a cigarette out of the pack he had on the end table. Bobby narrowed his eyes at the cigarette but didn't say anything as Jack lit it.

Pulling himself up off the floor, Bobby groaned as his knees creaked in protest. He grabbed Jack's leather jacket off the other bed and tossed it to him. Pulling on his own coat and smoothing back his hair, he shrugged. "Well, if we're goin' back out in the goddamn rain, might as well get a beer or two while we're at it."

XxXxXxXxXx

Remy couldn't believe it. How could she be so stupid?

You would think that with all those mirrors, she would have noticed someone standing in the room. Would have maybe even seen them before they saw her. But she let her guard down. The bubble bath had relaxed her and clouded her judgment and the 80's mix she had blaring on her iPod distracted her as she bopped around Bobby's apartment in her robe, getting ready to call it a night.

She was in the family room, cleaning up a bit when a piece of paper caught her eye. It was lying on the coffee table, half folded and forgotten. Picking it up, she scanned it, not sure just what she was looking at. Before she had a chance to get a really good look at it, she was grabbed from behind, strong arms wrapping her waist, lifting her up off the ground as she kicked at the air.

She opened her mouth to scream, but a gloved hand was quickly placed over it, blocking her air and making her gag. Reaching up, she tried to dig her nails into his arm which didn't work since he had on a heavy wool coat; and she couldn't reach his face like they taught in the self-defense class she'd taken a couple of years ago. She wanted nothing more than to kick the guy in the nuts and gouge his eyes out, but all she could do was flail about like a scared little girl.

"What the fuck?" A voice sounded from the darkness as a second man stepped out from God knows where, a stack of papers in his hand.

"You want me to take care of this?" the thug who was holding her asked and it felt like ice water was pumped into her veins.

The guy shrugged and then started to walk away, but stopped suddenly. "No, wait." He took a step closer, looking her up and down. "What's she doin' here in the first place? Bet she means something to Mercer."

"Ya think?" the other guy asked and Remy fought to keep from nodding her head to agree with them. She wasn't sure what would keep her alive – meaning something to Bobby or not meaning something to Bobby. Either way she was in deep shit.

The second guy spotted something on the floor and bent down to pick it up. It was the letter she'd found. She must have dropped it when she was grabbed.

"Bitch already did half of our work for us," he laughed as he pocketed the piece of paper. "Shame to kill her just yet. She could prove useful."

XxXxXxXxXx

Bruce Willis was busting heads and not taking any names when the phone rang. Angel muted the television and answered it, expecting it to be Bobby on the other end, calling for an update.

"Is Angel Mercer there?" the voice on the other end said, and Angel gulped down the worry that suddenly knotted in his throat. This was definitely not Bobby.

"Speaking."

"Mr. Mercer, I'm calling from Henry Ford Hospital. I'm afraid there's been an accident."


	22. Chapter 22

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Friends in Low Places_ by Garth Brooks

**Chapter 22**

_I'm not big on social graces_

Angel heard her before he'd even laid eyes on her.

She was screaming at some poor guy at a party a couple of his friends were throwing in an abandoned warehouse downtown. The guy was Jimmy Malone, if Angel wasn't mistaken. The kid was a small time wannabe who wore his jeans halfway down his ass and walked with that swagger that usually got white kids around there stomped on by the real hoods of Central High. How this shithead had lasted more than a week walking and talking like fucking Tupac was his homeboy was beyond him; but it looked like his days were numbered if his loudmouthed bitch of a girlfriend had anything to say about it.

Damn, she was fine – all tricked out curves and fiery passion. He'd never seen anyone like her – certainly not in his neighborhood or in the halls at school. She must be new. Her accent was thick, like she hadn't been in the states long, and she didn't seem to know anyone beyond Jimmy. Well, after tonight she wouldn't be a nobody. Half the party was staring and the other half would hear about it tomorrow at school after they'd sobered up enough to process more than how much money they owed their drug dealers and how many times to pump the keg in order to draw a cupful.

Poor Jimmy couldn't sink any further back into the couch if he tried. She wasn't hitting him, but her finger was jabbing so hard into his chest that she'd probably draw blood eventually. Shit, half the stuff she was shouting was in Spanish - she could be hollering her grocery list at the guy for all he knew.

Angel was leaning against the wall, watching the argument play out in front of him. It was better than the rap videos Tiny had playing on the shitty TV next to him. Taking a sip of his beer to hide his grin, he silently cheered the broad on. She finished in style – throwing a cup of beer in Jimmy's face and screeching a couple of choice words that Angel had no trouble understanding despite not knowing a lick of Spanish. Dude was fucked. Dude was fucked up good.

Her work done for the night, she stormed out the door, slamming it so hard that the cinderblock walls shook. Jimmy just sat there, like she'd sucked out his soul and left an empty husk behind. After a beat or two, everyone looked away from him, like being a loser might be contagious if you stared too long. Conversations began to slowly pick back up and someone turned up the TV, filling the room with an old Michael Jackson song. Angel spared Jimmy one last glance before heading for the door.

He had no idea what made him do it, what made him follow her – gut instinct, maybe. Shit, if he was honest with himself, he'd admit that what pulled him toward her was definitely in the general vicinity of his guts, just a bit more south. Gut instinct or not, she turned him on and he'd never felt such a strong attraction to a woman before. So he let his dick do the thinking – wouldn't be the first time and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

He found her easily – she was waiting at the bus stop. Her wait was going to be a long one; the next bus wasn't due to arrive for another forty-five minutes. He hated the bus with a passion, but being fifteen meant he was at the mercy of his two older brothers. They both gave lame reasons for not being able to chauffer his ass around town that night, so it was the bus or nothing. But luck was on his side and he managed to hotwire a Corvair a couple of blocks from his house – not the finest piece of machinery in the world, but when you're desperate, anything would do. The only thing missing was someone to fill the passenger seat and he had a feeling that was one problem he was about to find the solution for.

She glared at him as he approached. "What do you want?" she asked, the words had bite to them, but her Puerto Rican accent dulled the sharp edges.

He stopped where he was and held up his hands. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright. It ain't safe out here alone."

She laughed, a deep, throaty sound he could get lost in. "I'm perfectly fine. I can take care of myself."

Angel cocked his head to the left and smiled the smile he knew she wouldn't be able to resist. His ma always said his smile could melt hearts. "Oh, baby, I don't doubt that for a second."

"My name ain't baby." Tapping her foot, she looked him up and down, silently appraising him like he'd done to her back at the party.

"Angel," he said smoothly.

"I know who you are." That surprised him and his smile grew wider.

"Well, I'm at a disadvantage then because I have no idea who you are."

Licking her lips, she tossed her thick dark hair over her shoulder, the motion pulling her sweater tight across the full swell of her breasts. "Sofi. My name is Sofi."

Angel took a step, close enough now to reach out and touch her when she finally gave the signal. _When_ , not _if_. Angel didn't doubt for a second that he was going to get to know this girl much, much better before the night was through. "Nice to meet you, Sofi. Can I give you a ride?"

XxXxXxXxXx

The ER waiting room was just as jammed packed and chaotic as Angel remembered it from all his trips there when he was growing up. A haggard looking woman bouncing a crying baby on her knee, a guy with a bloody towel wrapped around his hand who looked like he was about to pass out, another guy who was so drunk off his ass that Angel could smell him clear across the room, the phone ringing off the hook as the nurse tried to get some crazy woman to sit down, a bunch of people sneezing and hacking and God knows what – Angel just wanted to get hell out of there.

He stared at the door the nurse had disappeared through. She said she'd be right back, but that was twenty minutes ago. He was beginning to think she had lied to him, saying anything to just get him to calm the hell down. Well, what the fuck was he supposed to do? It wasn't every day that he got a call that someone he loved was hurt in a car accident. He was worried and he was angry. Angry at what, he wasn't sure – he was going to have to wait for the police report to get the specifics on that one. At the moment, all he knew was that he was really pissed off at a telephone pole.

He groaned and leaned back in his chair, his shoulders tense and his jaw clenched. He hated not knowing what was going on. Hated feeling helpless. In the Marines, he was used to the calm before the storm, had actually thrived off it, but this was different. This he wasn't trained for. He thought he'd been desensitized to this shit after what happened with Jack. He'd paced the hell out of the hospital for three whole weeks, terrified that he was going to lose his little brother – he could handle twenty minutes. He looked at his watch and cursed under his breath. Make that twenty-two minutes.

The doors swung open and he jumped to his feet, ramming the chair back into the wall, digging it into the drywall. The nurse hesitated and he realized he probably looked a bit unhinged and he took a deep breath, trying to make his muscles relax. It didn't work.

"Mr. Mercer," she said slowly, like he was a caged animal about to rip her throat out. He could see why she got that idea – being a nurse in Detroit was like signing up for active duty in Iraq, you didn't go into it expecting to find peace and quiet. "If you'd like, you can come back with me," she said evenly, her expression unreadable. Angel felt like an ice bucket had been dumped on his chest.

"Is she okay?"

XxXxXxXxXx

Angel was trying not to laugh. He really was.

Sofi glared at him from the couch as she held an ice pack to her face. A bruise was already forming across her jaw – a vivid mix of purple and red and blue. It looked painful as hell, and it really wasn't funny – but Angel couldn't help it. It kept replaying over and over again in his mind – Sofi's look of complete horror when the doctor told her she'd have to keep the talking to a minimum for the next few days. Never mind the fact that she'd been pulled from the minivan by a crew of firefighters who has to use the Jaws of Life to get the damn door off and she was lucky to be alive. Nope, she couldn't be relieved that she only had a bump on the head, sprained wrist, and assorted cuts and bruises – all superficial and more of an annoyance than anything. Not his woman. Telling her she was supposed to keep her mouth shut for three or four days because she banged the hell out of her jaw was like telling her she was never going to walk again. Never let it be said that his future bride-to-be didn't have her priorities in order.

He unfolded the blanket he'd grabbed from Bobby's room and tucked it around her. "Soup?" he asked and she narrowed her eyes. "Um … baby, soup is all I got."

She shook her head and shrugged. He stared at her for a second, trying to decipher the gesture. "So … is that a yes for the soup?"

If someone could curse just with a glare, that someone would be Sofi. He grinned and gave her a quick kiss before heading into the kitchen, barely ducking the pillow she chucked at his head.

XxXxXxXxXx

They stepped through the door and Bobby pulled his head back, wincing like he'd just taken a punch to the face. "What the fuck is that?"

Jack stood behind him, shaking what seemed like half of Lake Michigan out of his hair. He was drenched. "What the fuck is what?" he said, not really listening to Bobby's bitching, asking the question more out of habit than anything.

"That noise, man. It's making my ears bleed."

"Huh?" Jack looked around. The bar was dimly lit and packed. Apparently everyone else had the same idea they had – get a drink and stay dry in the only place with a working generator. He didn't know what town they were in and would be hard pressed to even name the state, but it looked like they liked beer, pool, and loud music, all things Jack could relate to, which was fine by him.

"That. Country music. Shit sounds like a cat being drug over a cheese grater." Bobby scowled. It looked like it was open mic night or karaoke because a guy with a huge beer belly and a mangy beard was singing about his horse ditching him and his woman liking whisky. Or maybe it was his horse that liked the whiskey and his woman who ditched him? Jack couldn't quite figure it out.

He sighed and pushed his dripping wet hair out of his eyes. "It's just music, Bobby. It ain't all bad." Of course, the guy on stage must have had some sort of sixth sense and chose just that moment to hit the worst wrong note in the history of wrong notes.

"Yeah, Jackiepoo, it's like a goddamn symphony." Bobby pushed his way through the crowd and Jack followed him, apologizing to the people his brother nudged a little harder than necessary. They made it to the bar and Bobby, naturally, created space by shouldering some guy who was easily a head taller and built like a Mack truck.

"Hey, watch it," the guy growled and Jack shook his head – not even five minutes and they were already making friends.

"No, you watch it, asshole," Bobby glared at the guy and Jack took a step back, looking around for a quick escape in case fists started flying. His brother had a knack for starting fights over the stupidest shit – he could piss off Mother Theresa in seconds flat and Jack remembered him bragging about the time he made a nun curse him out during Sunday school. And they weren't on home turf here – if the music and the abundance of plaid and denim were any indication, they weren't exactly in Detroit anymore.

"Uh … Bobby," Jack started half heartedly. There was a seat open at the end of the bar, far away from Big Mack and his friends, who were now crowding in around them as Bobby continued to run his mouth. "I'm gonna …" his voice trailed and he shrugged. "Whatever, man."

The bartender handed him a beer bottle and he passed over a couple of bucks and made his way to the open stool. He figured he could see when Bobby needed help – which was inevitable considering the last he heard, his brother was comparing the guy's girl to the back end of a cow. It had been a while since Bobby had a chance to fight someone – at least three whole days since Chicago - so he needed to blow off some steam. Jack, however, just needed to sit and stew in his thoughts – even in New York City in a cramped apartment with two other roommates, he found downtime to just shut himself off and be alone. The _Mercer Road Trip From Hell 2005_ was proving to be _Bobby and Jack's Not So Excellent Adventure_ and he just needed some Bobby-free time before he tore his hair out or started a fight of his own.

XxXxXxXxXx

The next singer up wasn't half bad – playing acoustic guitar and singing a ballad that Jack vaguely recognized. People were dancing, swaying back and forth to the beat of the music. He took a long sip of his beer, downing close to half the bottle. He sat the bottle on the bar and started peeling the label off, concentrating on the paper the glue left behind. The applause signaled the end of the song and faster one started up, followed by some clichéd whoops and hollers from the patrons as they started some goofy looking line dance.

Jack was about to take another sip of beer when he felt someone's hand on his shoulder. He glanced behind him; a pretty girl he recognized from the dance floor was standing there, a big smile on her face. "Hey there, stranger," she said and he let the corner of his mouth quirk up into a grin. "Don't see many guys like you around here."

"Around these here parts?" he asked, drawing out the last part like he'd heard in some cheesy western. She laughed, grabbing his beer and taking a swig without asking.

"You could say that." She handed him back the bottle.

He turned in his seat, his knees brushing against her thighs. Her eyes were dancing – a bright green that you just could just imagine sparkled a certain way in the sunlight. She looked so different from the girls he was used to – so golden and bright. "Exactly what kind of guy am I like – you know, the kind you don't see around here?" He was falling back into it easier than he thought – the careless flirting. It felt good.

She ran her fingers over his leather jacket, biting her lip. "Oh, you know … the dangerous kind."

He almost spit out the beer he'd just taken a sip of. "Dangerous?"

She wrinkled her nose and squinted up at him. "Don't spoil this for me, okay?"

"Okay," he started slowly. "So I'm dangerous?"

"Very."

He motioned for two more beers from the bartender and handed her one. She refused it and pulled on his arm. "Dance with me."

Shaking his head, he stayed in his seat. "Nope. No dancing for me."

He wasn't surprised when she pouted, so he pointed to his leg. "Bum knee and the rain ain't helping much."

"Really?"

"Really."

She glanced behind her at the crowd that was stomping and clapping in unison. "Fine," she sighed and slumped into the stool next to him. "Okay, tall, dark and dangerous, where are you from?" She was twisting back and forth in her seat, looking at him with an intensity he wasn't used to.

"Detroit."

"I was right, then. Dangerous."

"Sure, whatever." He shrugged.

"What do you do in Detroit?"

"I'm in a band. Well, actually I was in a band. I'm between jobs at the moment."

She jumped off her seat and squealed so loudly that Jack almost fell of his seat, shocked by the sound. "You need to sing a song, then."

He shook his head. "Um … no … no I don't," he nearly stuttered.

"Yes, yes you do." She grabbed his hands and pulled - he wasn't prepared this time and stumbled off the stool, his knees nearly buckling beneath him.

Before he knew it, he was standing off to the side of the make-shift stage, a borrowed guitar in his hands, and his mind a complete blank. _Fuck, this should go well …_


	23. Chapter 23

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Here Comes the Sun_ by The Beatles

**Chapter 23**

_Little darling, it's been a long, cold, lonely winter  
_

The guitar wasn't his – it belonged to a middle aged woman with big hair and an even bigger hat who made him swear six ways to Sunday that he wouldn't hurt it. Any other day, he would have refused, argued he needed his own guitar and that was that. But he was beginning to realize the pushy chick who had sidled up to him at the bar was a force of nature and wouldn't take no for an answer. Resigned, he grabbed a chair near the stage and sat down, figuring he should at least tune the thing before he made a fool out of himself on stage.

XxXxXxXxXx

He was concentrating so hard his teeth were biting into his bottom lip. He had a guitar lesson book propped open on his desk – Evelyn bought it for him at a used bookstore that afternoon and he'd run upstairs the second they got home to try it out. The song was supposed to be easy – a piece of cake – shit, there was a girl on the front of the book and she probably wasn't on the verge of tears because the chords were a mess.

Frustrated, he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. He was stupid. He didn't know what made him think he could do it – he couldn't do anything – he was dumb and nothing was ever going to change that.

"Jack," Evelyn said softly and he looked up. She was standing in the doorway, he wasn't sure how long she'd been there and he felt his cheeks grow hot at the thought of her seeing him screw up so badly.

She came into the room and knelt down next to him. Reaching out, she rubbed his knee and for a minute everything was silent and he just focused on the feeling of her touching him and how he didn't feel like running away or throwing up or any of the dozen other things he usually felt when an adult touched him. He hadn't realized that had stopped – that feeling that twisted up his insides until he couldn't breathe.

"Honey," she said finally and he pulled his legs up underneath him so he was sitting Indian style, making her drop her hand from his knee. He may not feel like running away anymore, but he still hated confrontation, still hated to talk about stuff. "Jackie," she said and he took a breath. She always called him that when she wanted him to listen and feel safe and calm. He wanted to tell her he was fine – that he was just going to admit he sucked and quit trying to learn. He wasn't fooling anyone, anyway.

"When I was thirteen, I baked my mom a cake. It was her birthday and it was a surprise. My father wanted to just pick up one from the bakery, but I insisted. It was crooked and the icing slid off one side and I think I forgot to add the sugar to the flour because it tasted like sawdust. Do you know what happened?"

Well, that was certainly not what he was expecting. Cake and icing didn't have much to do with butchering the hell out of a Beatles song, but he shook his head anyway, kind of hoping this was leading to her offering him a piece of cake.

She grinned and he wondered if she could hear his thoughts – she got creepy like that sometimes, like she could hear the weird shit that tumbled around in his brain. "We each took one bite and then spit it out."

"Um … okay," he said, absentmindedly running his fingers over the guitar strings, pretty sure she'd just admitted he sucked.

"Then I went back into the kitchen the next day and tried it again and …"

"It came out perfect?"

She shook her head. "Nope, but I remembered the sugar that time. Eventually I made my own version, experimented a little, until it came out the way I wanted – not perfect, but better. Does that make sense?"

He shrugged and she took the guitar from him and propped it on her hip, placing her fingers like she was about to play. "Music is like that – the mistakes are what make it beautiful. You can't worry about being perfect. Perfect is boring."

She grabbed the book and studied the song Jack was trying to learn and she suddenly laughed. "Jackie, this one is tough. Why did you pick this one to start with?"

He pulled his cuffs of his shirt over his hands and tugged on the ends even though Evelyn was always telling him not to. "I dunno. I guess … well, I mean you like it. I remember you singing it once and I figured …" His voice trailed off and he kept his eyes trained on his lap.

"How about I help you? We can learn it together?" She got up and went over to the bed, probably wanting a softer seat than the hard floor. Jack followed and flopped on the bed, scooting back until he could lean against the wall and his feet stuck out over the edge of the mattress, the toes of his socks drooping because he stole them from Bobby's laundry and they were too big.

"Okay, let's see how this goes." She strummed a little and hummed under her breath – he realized she was barely looking at the book and playing from memory. A strange note tripped her up and she laughed. "Well, George Harrison can sleep soundly. His job is safe."

XxXxXxXxXx

People were clapping and Jack narrowed his eyes – he had no idea what they were clapping for. _Yay for the weird looking guy with the wet hair and the leather jacket?_ Bargirl got them pretty riled up with her introduction – now he wasn't just a guy from Detroit who played guitar; no, he was a rock star taking a break from his whirl wind tour and if the fine people of Whereeverinthehelltheywere promised to keep his presence a secret, he'd love to sing a song or two for them. _Sure. Whatever_. He was beginning to think she might be slightly unhinged anyway and he was wondering why everything that had happened to him since Thanksgiving had been skirting the edge of absurd.

He looked out at the crowd and sighed. If this was a blues bar he could just strum a chord and lament the state of his life.

_My life is just fucked up._

_Kidnapped by my brother._

_Bad guys want to kill me._

_So what's fucking new?_

_Tired of this shit and just want get back home._

_Got the Bobby Mercer blues._

He grinned at the thought as he pulled the guitar strap over his shoulder and adjusted the microphone a few hundred times as he stalled. He still had no clue what he was going to sing. Most of the band stuff didn't go with an acoustic guitar and he was so out of practice that anything fast would just be a joke. He rolled his shoulder, wincing at the twinge of pain that was so slight it really didn't warrant a wince. He needed to stop making excuses and jump feet first back into his life or just go home and die on the couch.

This was like a proverbial fork in the road. Right meant taking chances and getting past getting shot and losing his mother and worrying about sticking his neck out and making mistakes. Left meant shadowing his older brother for the rest of his life as he threw away every opportunity and gift Evelyn Mercer had ever placed in his hands while he was growing up.

 _Jackie, I know you can do this. It's hard, but I'm right here with you._ He could remember Evelyn leaning over him as they looked at that book together, trying to work out the confusing parts of the song that really had no place in a beginner's lesson book, at least that was the stance Jack had decided to take. It was the book's fault. Plus, Evelyn agreed with him.

It took two weeks, but they finally figured it out and it was during that second week that she showed him what she meant about not needing to be so worried about screwing up. Together, they added all sorts of new parts to it – changed things up a bit until the three minute song eventually ran on for ten. It was silly and sounded terrible to everyone else in the house and bore little resemblance to the original version of _Here Comes the Sun_ – but to Jack and Evelyn it was perfect.

He hadn't played that song in years, but the opening chords came easily to him, almost like breathing. He grinned as he strummed the familiar tune, trying to add some twang to it to keep the locals happy, not that they mattered. It was sloppy and it was too slow in parts, too fast in others, but it was right. Leaning in, he started to sing and it was like the last few months just fell away and he was back where he needed to be.

XxXxXxXxXx

Bargirl threw herself into his arms and knocked him off balance and he almost didn't catch himself in time – luckily he had already returned the guitar or he'd be in a shitload of trouble if he fell on it. Throwing his arms up, he fought the urge to push her away. "Whoa … you …" he trailed off, realizing he didn't know her name.

Her cheeks were flushed and he couldn't help returning her smile – it was big and bright and completely infectious. "Wow," she said breathlessly.

"Okay," he said.

"No, really. Wow," she persisted and he shrugged. "Encore?"

Shaking his head, he started walking off stage, dragging her along with him. "Nope. No encores tonight."

"But that was so good."

He was starting realize what Angel must feel like chained to Sofi as Bargirl yammered away at him. He was used to East coast girls – the ones who knew what they wanted and didn't bother with the small talk. This felt too much like work.

"Thanks," he mumbled as he limped through the people milling about. He stopped when he reached the bar and ordered another round of beers. He tried to sit on a stool but almost landed on the chick's lap because she'd already beaten him to the seat. She giggled and he rubbed his temples, suddenly feeling a headache coming on.

She looked down and linked her fingers in the chain attached to his belt, twirling it around her fire engine red fingernails. "Well … if you don't want to do an encore here …" She practically purred and he found his headache suddenly easing a bit. He leaned in slightly, his back against the bar, his hand resting on his hip, his fingers brushing hers.

"Yeah, got any requests?" He cringed at the bad pick-up line but she didn't seem to notice. He was rusty at this and he doubted he was going to get any Evelyn wisdom from beyond the grave to help him out. He had a sudden flash of that lawyer guy, Richard, telling him and his brothers about their mother's night things and realized there were easier ways to ruin a mood than a cold shower. He tried to push the image out of his mind – permanently.

"Oh, I can think of a few requests." She stood up and linked her arms around his neck. Balanced on the tips of her toes, she leaned in and her breath was warm on his neck and he could smell cherry lip gloss mixed with beer and he figured there were worse things in life than being bossed around.

Placing his hands on her waist he titled his head forward, his breath mingling with hers. "Oh, you can, can you?" he murmured.

"Mmhmm," she answered as she tightened her arms around his neck and lunged a little, covering that last millimeter of distance and crushing her lips against his. He realized the cherry was actually cotton candy and that Midwest girls made him forget himself just as skillfully as East coast girls did.

A Tim McGraw song was playing on the jukebox in the corner – something lazy and slow – and he swayed slightly, his hand trailing up the small of her back, skimming beneath the fabric of her plaid shirt, tracing lazy circles against her skin. She groaned deep in the back of her throat and leaned against him. It was supposed to be seductive and hot, but the extra weight bore down on his knee and he stumbled forward, catching himself with one hand braced against the stool and the other still wrapped around her back.

"Sorry," he muttered, embarrassed as hell.

She grinned. "Aw, ya just fell for me is all."

A thrown beer bottle saved him from having to think of a response. It smashed into the mirror behind the bar, sending shards of glass showering over the array of liquor bottles on display beneath it.

"What the hell?" He pushed himself up so that he could get a better look. A crowd was forming near the far edge of the dance floor. Another bottle went flying, followed by a chair and then … Jack squinted …

"Shit," he groaned, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"Who's the little guy?" the girl asked. She took a couple of steps toward the action, straining to see over the big guys lining the perimeter like they were watching a boxing match or something. Jack caught occasional glimpses of the guys who were fighting, circling each other and screaming insults and assorted shit at one another. He wasn't surprised in the least to see who seemed to be landing the most punches, after all he was the one who taught Jack how to box when he was eleven.

"The little guy is my brother," he said, rolling his eyes. He couldn't decide if he was tired or annoyed and just decided to settle with both.

A siren chirped outside and he glanced out the window, the telltale red and blue lights flashing against the glass. A cheer erupted from the crowed and Jack looked back – Bobby was picking himself up off the ground, wiping his bloody lip on the sleeve of his shirt.

Jack took a step forward. "Bobby," he yelled even though he had no hope of being heard over the crowd. His brother didn't hear him and literally launched himself into the stomach of the guy who punched him. Bobby wasn't going to give up until the police hauled his ass to jail. He knew what Bobby was like when he got into a fight - either the guy he was fighting passed out cold and Bobby could declare victory, or the jailhouse doors closed behind him as he spent the night in a holding cell.

The cops strolled in. Not in any particular hurry, but Jack had a feeling not much happened in that town in a hurry. They nodded at the bartender who pointed to the fight, like the cops couldn't figure that one out for themselves. Well, with cops you never did know – they weren't all like Green, with a brain behind the badge.

He slumped into a nearby chair. This was going to take all night – paperwork and waiting around. Shit he shouldn't be doing when he had a pretty girl perfectly willing to spend the night. God forbid Bobby keep his mouth shut and just enjoy a drink in peace and quiet.

Bargirl came up behind him and leaned over, her mouth next to his ear. "Raincheck?" she asked and he could hear the disappointment in that single word.

He watched as the cops entered the fray, one guy had his hand on Bobby's arm, wrestling it behind his back as his other hand reached for the cuffs. _Long fucking night._

Jack turned in his chair and studied her for a moment – the sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose intrigued him and he still needed to find out her name and follow through on all the promise that was in that kiss. He could hear Bobby shouting his name – it was slurred and he was drunk. The cops would make him sleep it off regardless of whether or not Jack showed up to claim the jackass. He'd go to the station, or whatever passed for a station around here, and make a case for letting him out early but it would fall on deaf ears – his brother was a menace to society until he sobered up and calmed down. If they were lucky, no charges would be filed - Bobby had dodged a lot of jail time in the past because cops just got tired of him running his mouth and figured overnight in a cell taught him his lesson. Right. That was one lesson Bobby Mercer was never going to learn because he didn't want to.

The girl was absentmindedly running her hand over the back of his chair, frowning and chewing on her bottom lip. He trailed a finger over her forearm and took her hand in his, guiding her gently until she was sitting on his lap. "Who said anything about rainchecks?" He grinned as he laced his fingers in her hair and pulled her toward him for another kiss.

One thing was certain – Bobby was going to kick his ass in the morning.


	24. Chapter 24

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Kiss Off_ by the Violent Femmes

**Chapter 24**

_I hope you know that this will go down on your permanent record_

Jack rolled over, dislodging the last little bit of the sheets that had managed not to get untucked during the course of the night. Lazily stretching out into the space next to him, he groped around, eyes half closed, confused. He couldn't remember why he should be surprised that the other half of the bed was empty, just that he was.

Groaning, he dragged himself up until he was sitting against the headboard, running his hand roughly through his hair, trying to wake up. Mornings were always tough for him. Hell, early afternoons sometimes proved a challenge and once or twice he'd slept clear through daylight, only to wake up in the dark and wonder why Bobby was bitching at him to get dinner ready. He wanted to blame his shitty sleeping habits on getting shot, but he had never been particularly enthusiastic to greet a new day, no matter how old and healthy he was.

He squinted at the clock, but it was blank. He tried the lamp, but that didn't work either. Right. The power was out. He knew that. Something else tickled at the back of his sleep-muddled brain, something important, but it was just out of reach. The half empty bottle of whiskey on the bedside table provided one clue and the lacy red bra that was tossed next to it provided the second. He still couldn't help thinking there was something else he was missing, though … something more than getting drunk and getting laid.

His cigarettes were right where he usually left them, next to the clock radio, his lighter on top. At least he got that much right. He had one lit when the door suddenly banged open, bouncing loudly off the wall with a bang and ricocheting back, blocking the intruder. The door swung back open again and Jack's heart dropped to his stomach like a boulder.

"Shit," he muttered around the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. It all came back to him in a rush. The bar. A guitar. A girl. The cops. Bobby. "Shit," he said again, flinching like his brother had already taken a swing at him.

Bobby glared at him from the doorway, nostrils flaring, ready to charge. "Jack." His voice was low, ominously low.

Jack sat up a little straighter, grabbing a pillow and wrapping his arms around it, the world's most pathetic shield. He cleared his throat and nodded, trying to look nonchalant. "Bobby."

His brother didn't move, just stood perfectly still in the doorway. Jack couldn't get a read on him – couldn't tell just how fucked he was. He suddenly wished he was … well … dressed and not just sitting in bed, naked, defenseless, and holding a pillow.

Bobby looked like shit. His clothes were wrinkled and rumpled, like he'd slept in them, which Jack figured he probably had, if he'd slept at all - the cots in holding cells usually sucked and Jack just would just lay there and stare at the ceiling the few times he'd been in one. He could see from there that Bobby needed a shave, shower, and probably a good ten hours crashed in a bed. But first things first. There was no way in hell Bobby Mercer was going to let his baby brother get away with leaving him to rot in jail for a night without at least acknowledging it.

Silence stretched between the two of them – the kind of silence that could only mean one thing: all hell was about to break loose. Swallowing the bile creeping up the back of his throat, Jack figured he should be the first to speak, just get it over with. "They, uh, let you out, huh?"

"No shit, Sherlock," Bobby barked back. "Too bad they're just gonna have to send me right back … after I rip your _fucking_ head off!" He walked into the room, slamming the door behind him so hard the blinds on the window rattled and the remote fell off the TV.

"Um …"

"You better have a good fucking excuse, Jackass, because --" Before Bobby could finish his threat, the bathroom door opened, distracting him. A blonde emerged, wearing a smile and not much else. The towel was a joke, leaving not much to the imagination, not that Jack needed to use his – last night came flooding back to him in full Technicolor, complete with a slow jazz soundtrack and a triple X rating.

"Did I leave my bra in here? It's hard to see with the lights still out."

Jack's excuse stopped in her tracks when she realized Bobby was standing there. "Oh, I know you." She pointed at him with the hand that wasn't clutching the towel closed. "The little guy."

"The what?" Bobby narrowed his eyes and Jack coughed loudly, trying to mask a laugh that threatened to escape.

"Jack's brother," she said cheerfully.

"And who the hell are you? Jack's cleaning lady? Do we gotta tip extra if you do it topless?"

"Bobby," Jack said, a warning in his voice, despite not having much to back it up with at the moment.

"I asked a simple question. Who the fuck is she?"

Jack stared blankly at her, realizing he couldn't answer. He had no clue what her name was.

"Jolene," she offered, the name smooth and sexy in her slow, twangy accent. Jack couldn't have known that because there was no way in hell he would have forgotten it.

"Please to meet you, Jolene," Bobby said, his voice laced with a fake sincerity that Jack didn't buy for a second. "So you and Jackie-boy here had a good night together, huh?"

Still smiling and still half naked, she nodded and Jack just wished he could go back to sleep a wake up in a different nightmare.

"Aw, that's nice." Bobby plopped down on the end of the bed and Jack couldn't help but notice that his brother smelled like the backroom of one of the dive bars he played at in New York – musty, smoky, and beer drenched with a slight tinge of week-old piss. "Wanna know how I spent my night?"

Jack shook his head slowly and mouthed the word _no_ , but Bobby had his back to him and couldn't see him. Jolene could though, and she bit her lip and amusement flashed in her eyes.

"Fine, how did you spend your night, sweetie?" she asked, her voice dripping with honey.

"Well, I'm sure Cracker Jack here can fill you in, since he watched them haul my ass away in a cop car while you had your tongue stuck down his throat."

Jack sighed and banged the back of his head against the headboard. "Bobby …"

Turning to look at him, Bobby did something Jack would have never expected, not in a million years. He grinned. "Hey, I can't blame you for getting a piece of ass while I was sitting on mine in a drunk tank."

"Seriously?"

"Doesn't mean I'm not gonna kick the shit out of you," Bobby added.

The blonde had her hand on her hip and she was studying the two of them, her eyes narrowing. "Hey, did you just call me a _piece of ass_?"

XxXxXxXxXx

Clothing more or less in place and hair dripping wet from a shower in the dark, Jolene left after a lingering kiss good-bye with a Jack. "When we meet again, dangerous," she murmured against his lips and Bobby let out a strangled laugh behind them.

She looked over at Bobby and biting her lip, she winked. "Maybe we can get to know each other better next time, sweetheart."

"I'll be sure to pencil you into my engagement calendar," Bobby said dryly as she left the motel room, her shoes in one hand and her bra hanging from the back pocket of her painted on jeans. Jack stared after her, half wondering if he'd imagined her.

"Cute chick," Bobby said as grabbed a bag and started packing it with the stuff that was scattered around the room. He lifted up the mattress and grabbed the two guns he'd hidden there. Checking both magazines swiftly, he tucked one in his jeans and stuffed the other one in the bag on top of his jeans and sweatshirts.

Jack still wasn't finished getting dressed and he threw the covers off the bed, looking for the sock he'd somehow lost. It wasn't there. Grimacing, he lowered himself carefully to the floor to look under the bed.

"She's not your type though," Bobby observed as he tossed Jack's duffle bag over to him, smacking him in the head with it as he emerged from under the bed, sock in hand.

Pushing himself up off the floor, he flopped onto the bed to pull on his socks and boots. "And just what is my type?" He regretted the question as soon as he asked it.

"For starters …"

Jack sighed, waiting for the inevitable.

"She's gotta have a dick."

He rolled his eyes. "Unbelievable, man. You just can't let it go, can you?"

"I was going to, until you left my ass behind to rot in jail."

Jack shook his head as he pushed his hair out of his eyes. "I did not leave you to rot in jail. They wouldn't have let you out anyway."

"You don't know that."

"What difference does eight hours make?"

"Nine."

"It's not like it's the first time you've spent the night in jail."

"Not the point."

"And it's not like it'll be the last."

Bobby's mouth opened and closed, like he was fishing for his next argument. He settled for a shrug. "Fair enough."

"Look, just do whatever it is that you're gonna do so I can get on with my life."

Bobby narrowed his eyes. "What the hell do you think I'm going to do to you?"

Jack shrugged, a flash of matches and gasoline and flames going through his head. His brother wasn't one to let go of things easily. "I dunno. Beat me up."

His brother grunted and shook his head, checking the dresser drawers, even though they have yet to put anything away in a drawer or a closet in the string of dive motels Bobby insisted on staying in. "Right," Bobby said, his mouth twisting into an almost grin.

Jack jumped up from the bed, suddenly angry. "Well why the hell not? You wouldn't let Angel or Jerry get away with it?"

"What's that got to do with it?"

"And you would have never let me get away with it, either." It was true. Fights weren't uncommon in the Mercer household, not with four rowdy boys living there; but unlike other households he lived in, the fights were always fair and the punches were usually well deserved.

"Don't start that _I don't want to be babied_ shit." Bobby pointed an accusing finger at him. "I'm tired of it."

"Well, I'm tired of it too."

"You want me to hit you?"

"Yes."

"You seriously want me to hit you."

"Y --" Bobby's fist connected with Jack's jaw before he could finish. Jack reeled back, almost falling on his ass, his knee threatening to give out on him.

"Shit." Jack groaned, holding his throbbing face. "I can't believe you fucking hit me."

"Grab your shit," Bobby said, showing no remorse what so ever. "We gotta get out of here before the phones come back on and that cop calls Detroit to find out about us. I want to be far from here when that happens."

"Why?" Jack mumbled, his jaw already swelling a little.

"Man, here I thought you were all smart and shit. Chances are he ain't gonna like what he hears. With Green gone, we can't trust anyone."

Jack laid back on the unmade bed, suddenly feeling very tired. "Great," he muttered to the ceiling. "And the hits just keep on comin' …"

XxXxXxXxXx

Jerry stretched back, pulling on the lever to raise the bottom of the recliner. The TV was on mute, a football game playing in silence, but Jerry could see that the Lions were losing badly, so it didn't really matter what was going on anyway.

The sound was off so that Angel could talk on the phone without interruption, though the constant stream of notes and mimed instructions from Sofi probably counted as interruption.

"Yes, the pink tulips," he practically stammered into the phone. Sofi swung and smacked him in the arm. "I mean, no. Not the pink tulips."

She nodded and Angel's shoulders relaxed a little bit. "Um … carnations?" He said and she jumped up from the couch, shaking her head violently. "No," Angel said slowly, not taking his eyes off his fiancé. "We're not gonna go with carnations."

Sofi started pacing, her hands flying out like they did when she talked, her face turning an angry red that clashed nicely with the purple bruise darkening the lower half of the right side of her face. Jerry had no idea what she was saying, but he was glad he couldn't hear it. She grabbed the notebook and marker she left on the coffee table and wrote something, underlining it three times before showing Angel.

"R-roses," he read into the receiver.

Sofi threw here hands up in the air, triumphant.

"Oh." Angel gulped and she turned to look at him, the air in the room still. "Those cost extra?"

Sofi stared at him, unblinking, a silent dare.

"That's … um … fine. Anything for my baby."

He hung up with a sigh, looking for all the world like he'd survived a firing squad. "No more, baby. I don't think I can take it."

She grabbed the notebook and wrote something. Angel glanced over at it, slouching down in his seat until his chin touched his chest and he looked like a five year old that was just given a time out. "Caterer?"

Jerry laughed at his brother's pain, remembering how crazy Camille got planning their wedding. He stayed his ass far, far away all of that, leaving it up to Evelyn and Camille to get it right. Show up on time at the right church, in the tux she picked out for him and don't screw up his lines. Simple as that.

The doorbell rang and he held out his hand to stop Angel from getting up. His brother glared at him, clearly hoping for a reason to escape.

"Don't worry, little brother, I got this," he said with a big smile. "You just keep doing what you're doing there. Wouldn't want to pull you away."

He was still grinning when he opened the door, a man standing on the other side of it.

The visitor nodded at him, a polite greeting. "Jeremiah Mercer. Man, it's been a long time."

"Green?"


	25. Chapter 25

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Nowhere Road_ by Steve Earle

**Chapter 25**

_I been down this road just searching' for the end  
It don't go nowhere, it just brings you back again_

Growing up in Detroit, you learned two things pretty quick: You don't have to go looking for trouble because trouble sure as hell was gonna find you whether you wanted it to or not; and no matter what, anytime you're part of a pickup hockey game, you wanted to be on the side Bobby Mercer was playing on. On average, that would help cut your emergency room bill in half unless things went downhill pretty fast and the other side got in some lucky hits.

The Green brothers knew these things but tended to ignore them. The eldest Green, Terrence, was a cop, a fact that cracked Bobby up on a regular basis. He'd known Green for years, and they'd always been friends – not the kind of friend Bobby ran with when he was doing stuff he shouldn't be doing – but the kind of friend he'd shoot the shit with on weekends and grab a beer with at Johnny G's.

Jerry liked Terrence, liked the fact that someone from their neighborhood chose the high road for a change. He liked to think he could be something like a cop one day. If not a cop, then at least someone who could make some changes around there, clean up the streets a bit. Make his mom proud.

Green's younger brother, Marcus, was in Jerry's class. They were both graduating that year and Marcus was headed to college on a full scholarship and Terrence bragged about it constantly. His little brother was smart and was going to make something of himself. It was nice to beat the odds every once in a while.

Jerry already had a job working construction on the weekends and his boss had decided to take him under his wing, seeing potential there that Jerry had trouble seeing himself. His mom told him time and time again that he was going places, but that meeting last week with his boss was the first time he could see a path for himself.

So the Green brothers didn't like playing by the rules, and at that moment their stubbornness wasn't exactly working in their favor. Bobby was pummeling them out on the ice. It was brutal. Jerry couldn't help but wince every time Marcus took an elbow to his side or a stick to his shin. Bobby played dirty. Everyone knew that.

Jerry glided by, taking up the puck and heading for the goal. Terrence came into view out of the corner of his eye. Blood was running down his face from a cut above his eyebrow and he was grinning like mad. Jerry decided to add a new rule to the previous two rules you learned while growing up in Detroit: Bobby Mercer's little brothers would go through life with giant targets painted on their backs and suffer the payback for any crap Bobby pulled.

He couldn't get out of the way fast enough and the impact was jarring, throwing both guys off their feet and onto the ice, hard. He heard Bobby yell something and then all hell broke loose.

The familiar flash of blue and red light, accompanied by a quick chirp of a siren, broke things up pretty quick. Jerry had no idea whose side won, just that he had to hightail it back home or risk having to call his mom from the police station to come and pick him up. The cops gave them three minutes to grab their stuff and scram - Jerry was out of there with twenty seconds to spare.

He was out of breath with a stitch in his side when he finally slowed to a stop. Angel was right behind him and the fourteen-year-old was laughing. "Jerry, man, I didn't know you could run so fast." He dropped a pair of skates on the ground at Jerry's feet. "Left these behind. Ma woulda been pissed if she had to buy you a new pair."

Holding onto his ribs, Jerry slumped onto the steps of his house, deciding catching his breath was more important than answering his kid brother.

Bobby sauntered up a few minutes later. Jerry was surprised to see him, certain he was going to get grabbed by the cops. "Jeez, you two ran like a couple of little girls." He shook his head. "Little embarrassing, to tell the truth. You two need to toughen up a bit, grow some balls. I'll have a talk with Ma, make sure she isn't turning you soft since I ain't around to act as a positive influence on your upbringing."

"Parenting tips from Bobby Mercer? Now I've seen everything," a familiar voice said. Jerry looked up, watching as Terrence and Marcus strolled up the sidewalk. Both were definitely in worse shape than the Mercers and Jerry fought back a grin.

"Marcus," Bobby said with a nod. "Terry," he said pointedly, making sure to call Green by the nickname he hated. It didn't go unnoticed. Green's fist clenched and the muscle in his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth. But Green was the good cop, the calm one who tricked you into liking him and trusting him while his partner waited to swoop in and scare the shit out of you. He was a pro at keeping his anger in check – shit he probably used all those years hanging out with Bobby on his resume. "Can control temper in extreme situations." Things didn't get much more extreme than Bobby Mercer running his mouth.

"Terry, you can confess – you called in your buddies in blue to save you and your brother the humiliating ass whooping we both know you were about to experience," Bobby said with a grin that Green matched.

"Right, Bobby. You figured me out. Last I checked, we'd just scored, again, on your pathetic excuse for a goalie."

"Hey!" Angel said, taking a step forward, his eyes narrowing.

"I just call 'em like I see 'em, kid," Green said with a shrug.

Bobby tilted his head at his youngest brother. "You were pretty pathetic tonight. We should tell Ma to adopt a girl so we can replace your sorry ass."

Jerry laughed at Angel's frustrated glare. "He does have a point."

"Thanks a lot, Jer," he mumbled as he crossed his arms and slumped onto steps leading up to the porch.

"Let's call it a draw," Green said diplomatically, clasping his hand on the eldest Mercer's shoulder. "Wanna grab a beer?"

"Cool," Marcus chimed in. "Johnny G's?" Johnny wasn't supposed to allow under-aged kids in, but he made exceptions every once in a while. Of course, Johnny made exceptions, but Super Cop didn't.

"No little kids allowed." Green gave his brother a "what the hell" look and shook his head.

"But …"

"Hangout here for a couple of hours, little brother. You don't need to tag along every where I go."

Marcus slumped next to Angel on the steps and let out a sigh, watching as his brother and Bobby disappeared down the street.

XxXxXxXxXx

"Well, Jeremiah, are you going to let me in?"

Jerry blinked slowly, feeling a bit disoriented. He shook his head, trying to clear it. "Oh, right. Sorry. Just wasn't expecting …"

"A familiar face?"

"Yeah, I guess that's it. I never realized how much you look like him."

The man at the door nodded thoughtfully. "I know. Same here – it's weird to see my brother staring back at me from the mirror. I guess I never really noticed the resemblance until he was gone."

"The mind can be funny sometimes."

"Tell me about it." He motioned toward the door again. "Let me in, Jerry. What I have to say really shouldn't been said out in the open like this."

Angel did a double take as their guest stepped into the family room. "What the …" he started, sitting up straighter on the couch, dropping the phone onto his lap. Sofi angrily elbowed him in the side, but he ignored her. Picking up the phone, he mumbled, "Call you back," and then hung up on the caterer who was chattering a mile a minute on the other end.

Jerry stepped into the room. "Angel, you remember Marcus, Terrence Green's little brother."

Angel jumped up and held out his hand. "Of course, man. Long time."

Marcus smiled as they shook hands. "Eight, nine years at least. Miss those hockey games." He groaned and rolled his shoulders. "Don't miss those hockey fights, though."

"Bobby," Angel simply stated and Marcus laughed.

"Bobby Mercer. The Michigan Mauler."

"A legend in his own mind," Angel finished for him. Sofi snorted a laugh and winced in pain, grabbing her bruised jaw.

Jerry sat down on the couch, his hands clasped in his lap as he balanced on the edge of his seat, anxious to find out why Marcus was paying them a visit. "Sorry about your brother. Wished we'd figured out Fowler was crooked before it was too late."

"Hindsight is twenty-twenty. I think my brother knew his partner wasn't exactly on the straight and narrow, but he didn't realize just how corrupt he was. Lieutenant Fowler was more gangster than cop and my brother paid the price for it."

"And our mother." Angel said quietly.

"And your mother," Marcus repeated, his expression shuttered.

"Not to be rude," Angel said, "but why are you here?"

"I understand that the problem you all ran into a few months ago may not be as taken care of as you originally thought?"

Jerry felt his chest tighten. He wasn't sure he liked where this conversation was going. "Maybe," he said, not even sure he should reveal that much. He was tired of getting burned by people he trusted.

"Well, I think we might have the same problem," Marcus said cryptically.

Jerry cocked his head. "Just what are you gettin' at?"

Marcus reached for his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open and Angel, Jerry and Sofi all leaned in to get a better look.

It was an ID and Jerry only needed to glance at it once to see just what it was an ID for, though he'd only ever seen one on TV.

FBI.

"I think we can be of some use to each other," Marcus said, tucking his wallet back into his pocket.

Jerry stood there, the last few months playing through his mind like a greatest hits clip show of the World's Least Funny Home Videos. Bad luck piled on top of bad luck. He was sure he should allow himself even an ounce of hope, but he couldn't help it. He glanced at Angel who shrugged and then he looked back at Marcus and said, "I think you may be right."

XxXxXxXxXx

Bobby opened the door a crack and peered outside. Jack laughed behind him. "Are you expecting a sneak attack or something?"

Bobby glanced over his shoulder, an annoyed look on his face. "Are you fucking kidding me or did you happen to forget what happened back in November?" He nodded at Jack's knee and the laughter came to an abrupt halt.

"Not funny, man," Jack said under his breath.

"Didn't mean for it to be. You gotta start payin' attention to what's goin' on around you. You're not gonna get lucky twice."

"Didn't get lucky once," Jack mumbled as he hiked his duffle bag over his shoulder.

Bobby pushed the door open and took a step back. "Coast is clear. After you, sweetheart."

Jack dumped their bags and his guitar into the trunk and was about to slam it close when he heard his brother let out a shout. Limping around the car to see what was going on, his brother was standing at the hotel room door, about to lock it, but someone had startled him – Jolene to be exact. She was standing there, giant suitcase in tow, clueless grin on her pretty face. Jack knew that scowl that turned his brother's face bright red wasn't a good sign and that Bobby was deciding whether or not he should draw his gun. Jolene was seconds from getting the brunt of Bobby's anger and that was if she was lucky. He didn't _think_ Bobby would shoot her, but the way things had been going, Jack wasn't about to place bets on his hunch.

Jack cleared his throat, hoping to diffuse the situation. "Thought you said we should be paying attention to what's going on around us."

"Fuck you," Bobby bit out, not taking his eyes off their new friend. "What the hell do you want?"

"I want to come," Jolene said, tossing her blonde curls over her shoulder and smiling that smile that worked so well on Jack last night. Bobby, apparently, wasn't as easily swayed and his scowl stayed stubbornly in place.

"What?" he practically barked.

"To California. Jack said that's where y'all were headed and that's where I want to be, so I figured I'd tag along." At the mention of his name, Jack took a step back, figuring that if he had to make a run for it, he could duck behind the open trunk. It would be a good shield for when the bullets started flying.

"Oh, that's what Jackiepoo told you? Well, you figured wrong."

"I got money; I'll pay my way."

"Then pay your way on a fucking bus. We ain't Amtrak here, doll."

"Jack said …" she started and Bobby snorted a laugh.

"I don't give a shit what Jack said. This ain't a committee, it's a dictatorship and I say you're staying put."

Jolene scuffed her boot across the ground and looked down and Jack felt the hair on the back of his neck standup. He hoped like hell she wasn't about to cry. She sniffed a little and he fought the urge to bolt.

Bobby laughed. "So you're going to California to become an actress, is that the plan?"

She nodded, her hair hanging over her shoulders, obscuring her face. "Yeah, how did ya know?" she asked quietly, her voice trembling.

"Lucky guess," Bobby said dryly and she looked up, eyes blazing, not a tear in sight.

She took a step toward Bobby, determined and fiery. "Look. Let me lay it out straight for you. I want to go. I don't take up much space. I'll keep my mouth shut." Bobby laughed again, interrupting her. She took a breath before continuing. "And I think Jack and me might have something special. Don't you think so, sweetie?" she called out to him and Jack furrowed his brow. Sure. Special. If he could remember more than half of it.

"Um …" he started but his brother saved him from trying to force his hungover brain to string two words together.

"Sorry, babe, you can't come. There ain't no room for your shit – trunk's full of snack cakes. Blame the kid."

She huffed and crossed her arms and Jack sighed, shutting the trunk and bracing his hands against it. He really needed a cigarette and the rest of that bottle of whiskey. It was going to be a long day. "Bobby …"

"Don't fucking say it."

"Just let her come."

XxXxXxXxXx

Luther sighed as his partner's phone started to ring. He was quickly learning to hate that sound. His boss, Roy Sweet, was a persistent son of a bitch and if they were one minute late in reporting in, he was right there, riding their asses and demanding an update. Problem was, there was nothing to update. They hadn't found the guy who was watching the strip club, though Luther was positive finding him wasn't going to help. Last he checked, corpses didn't do much talking.

"Yes, sir," his partner, Mike, said in the clipped tone he used whenever talking to Sweet. "No, sir. Sorry, sir. I know, sir." Luther sighed again. The conversation was going just as well as all the previous conversations had gone. Sweet wasn't going to be happy. Not much scared Luther, but the idea of Sweet coming down on him for screwing up this job made his palms sweat and his heart race. If half of what they'd heard about this dude was true, then they were in deep shit if they didn't produce that damn kid and his brother.

"You found out what?" Mike asked, his beady little eyes narrowing into slits.

Luther sat up a little straighter, his hand tightening on the wheel as he drove. This was different. The conversation usually wound up with Sweet barking on the other end and his partner hanging up, telling him the new and inventive ways they were going to be castrated when they got back to Detroit.

"Thank you, sir," Mike said before closing the phone. He looked at Luther. "They filled a prescription in Nebraska."

"So they are heading west," Luther observed, glancing out the window at the brown and green landscape they'd been stuck in ever since leaving Bobby Mercer's apartment.

"Looks that way."

"So our hunch was right."

Mike nodded and motioned behind him. "Told you that bitch would come in handy."

Luther glanced into the rearview mirror, his eyes meeting the heated gaze of the woman tied up in the backseat. She was pissed. Nothing new there, she was always pissed.

Mike turned in his seat and laughed that creepy laugh that got under Luther's skin. "Don't worry, sweetheart. We'll find your boyfriend soon enough."


	26. Chapter 26

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _The Weary Kind_ by Ryan Bingham

**Chapter 26**

_The days and the nights all feel the same_

"Ugh. I hate this song. Come on, change the station."

Bobby growled deep in his throat and swatted at the arm that was wagging over the back of the seat, reaching for the radio. "That ain't being invisible. You said, 'you won't even know I'm here.' Well, your nagging from the backseat is making that pretty fucking hard."

Jolene sighed dramatically, resting her head on the back of Bobby's seat, running her red tipped nail over the old radio. "I don't see what the big deal is." She was doing that purring crap again. He couldn't believe she thought that shit worked.

"The big deal is that this is my car and what I say goes," Bobby said as he reached forward, knocked her hand out of the way and turned the radio off, twisting the knob so hard that it broke off in his hand. He tossed it into the backseat, blindly aiming for her head. "Happy now?"

Bobby glanced in the rearview mirror and watched as Jack's one night stand crossed her arms and pushed her lower lip out, pouting like a six year old who got told she couldn't play with her Barbies. Leave it to his dumbass brother to hookup with the one chick in fifty states more annoying than Sofi.

Jack leaned forward in the passenger seat, attempting to fiddle with all the remained of the radio dial.

"Keep your hands off my stuff."

"I was just gonna …" Jack started to whine.

"I don't fucking care. You're just as annoying as she is. Should stick you both in the trunk for the next hundred miles and enjoy the drive for a change."

Bobby watched as Jack pulled out the cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open. Jack punched some numbers and frowned.

"Something wrong?" Bobby asked.

"Battery's dead."

"How can the fucking battery be dead? We haven't used the stupid thing in over a day."

"You spent three hours stalking through the hotel room, trying to get a signal. Batteries don't last forever." Jack closed it and slipped it back into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette at the same time.

"Well?" Bobby asked.

"Well what? We'll power it back up when we get to a motel. It's not like I can plug it into a cow." Jack nodded toward the window and the miles of farmland they were driving through. He tucked the cigarette into his mouth and reached forward for the lighter in the dashboard. He was about to push it in when Bobby knocked his hand out of the way.

"No smoking in my car." Bobby rolled his neck, wishing the tension and exhaustion would disappear.

Jack leaned back, slouching in his seat, but Bobby could feel his eyes on him, knew he was watching him. The kid was about to say something, though with Jack it usually took him a while to get up the nerve to actually speak, so Bobby had to sit there and wait while his brother twisted the words around in his brain and stared through him like he was trying to read his mind.

Bobby finally had enough. "What?" he asked, more annoyed than he really needed to be.

Jack ran his hands through his hair. "Um …" he started and Bobby fought the urge to punch him again, give him a matching bruise on the other side of his jaw. Jack had goaded him into punching him with his whole "don't baby me" crap, but he'd felt bad about it as soon as he'd done it. Now he was just starting to think the kid had a masochistic streak he wasn't aware of.

"Jesus Christ, Jack, if you don't spit it out I'm going to pull this car over and … fuck, I don't know … just something. This has been the longest goddamn two days in a long time, and yes I'm including the shit that went down in Chicago. Quit being a pussy and just fucking say what you want to say."

Jolene giggled in the backseat and Bobby glared at her in the rearview mirror. "You got a problem?"

"I'm sorry, but the whole tough guy act is funny."

"Jolene …" Jack said under his breath.

"Oh, you think this is funny." Bobby talked over his brother, not wanting to hear his lame attempt at shutting up the tramp in the backseat.

She giggled again. "Joe Pesci."

For some reason, that made Jack start laughing too and now Bobby was really pissed. "What the fuck does Joe Whoever have to do with anything?"

"Joe Pesci. _Goodfellas._ " Jolene leaned forward. "'You think I'm funny? Do I amuse you?'" She did some weird imitation that vaguely rang a bell, but he kept his expression blank. Her mouth dropped open. "You seriously don't know _Goodfellas_?"

Jack was shaking his head. "Bobby doesn't do movies."

"Oh, I do movies. When I'm in jail because I've killed some annoying broad and my dimwit brother, then I do lots of movies because I have hours upon hours to kill and there's nothin' but movies and stampin' out license plates to do. And I'm gettin' pretty damn close to needing a vacation and jail is the closest thing I ever get to one, so I'd keep that in mind if I were you two."

That shut them up, at least for a few miles. Bobby rolled his shoulders, feeling the last two days of no sleep, jail time, and a bar fight form a giant knot right at the base of his neck.

"I could drive for a bit."

That almost made him swerve off the road. "What?"

Jack sighed. "I can drive for a bit. You look like shit and could probably use some rest after last night."

"You think it's a good idea to bring up last night?" Bobby gripped the steering wheel, the cuts and bruises on his knuckles standing out like a warning sign.

"I had a good time last night," Jolene added from the backseat and Bobby closed his eyes and counted to ten, not even caring that he could drive them into a tree.

Jack turned slightly in his seat and glanced behind him. "That's not helping."

"Glory, give the man a dollar so he can buy a sense of humor." She rolled her eyes, snapping her gum.

Bobby glared at his brother. "This is a joke, right Jackass? You thought it would be funny to throw the most annoying broad imaginable into this car to prove some point you've concocted in that persecuted brain of yours?"

"You figured it out, Bobby. That's exactly what this is." Jack said dryly, drumming a beat on his knee as looked out the window, wincing as Bobby swerved slightly on the empty, perfectly straight stretch of road. "I'm serious about letting me drive. You're gonna get us killed."

"You remember the last time you drove my car?"

Jack narrowed his eyes. "You never let me drive your car."

"That's not what I asked. I asked about the last time you drove it. There was no fucking 'letting' involved. Letting implies permission. Letting implies me placing the keys in your hand and saying, 'Here ya go kid. Drive safe. Be home before dark.' I don't recall that ever taking place. Do you?"

"Bobby, that was a long time ago."

"Six years."

"And six years is a long time."

If Bobby wasn't mistaken, there was fear in Jack's eyes and Bobby fought the urge to grin. "Damn straight it's a long time," he said darkly. "Especially if you've been sitting on the fact that some dumb shit wrecked your car and spray painted _Fuck You_ on it in pink paint."

"I was in a hurry and grabbed the first can of paint on the shelf."

"That's your whole defense?"

"Maybe?" Jack started tapping on the widow, pretending to be more interested in the scenery than in the conversation. "So you've known all along?" he mumbled.

"What do you think?"

"Well, why didn't you say anything back then?"

"Ma said I couldn't kill you."

XxXxXxXxXx

"We're stoppin'? It ain't even dark yet." Jolene said as she pulled herself up out of the car, stretching as she did so, the fabric of her shirt straining against her chest. She ran her hands through her hair, fluffing it out. It fell in a perfect halo of gold around her shoulders and the hours just spent stuck in a car were instantly erased.

Bobby narrowed his eyes at her, oblivious to her charm, big boobs and all. "Talk about stating the obvious. You sure you ain't a rocket scientist?"

"At this rate, we'll be in California by next summer," she shot back and Jack rubbed his temples. He was tired of the bickering. "How long have you too been on this trip? It's not like California is in Siberia."

"Trip's Hell of a lot shorter than the one you'll be on when you have to hitchhike the rest of the way there, babe."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Bobby thought this should be some sort of brothers bonding trip or some bullshit like that."

"And you know you fucking appreciate that, Jack." Bobby slammed his door.

"Yeah, our very own road trip movie, minus the fun and laughs and good times," Jack said dryly.

Jack walked up to the dingy check-in window. The bald guy sitting on the other side was reading a trashy romance novel and doing the best impression that Jack had ever seen of a guy who couldn't give a fuck that anyone was standing there.

He tapped on the glass and cleared his throat. "Excuse me."

Nothing. Maybe the dude was at a really racy part and couldn't put the book down. The woman on the cover was spilling out of the top of her low cut dress and it looked like the pirate guy was about to ravish her from behind. Jack could only imagine the steamy shit that went on behind that cover.

Jack wrapped his knuckles against the window. "Yo, Fabio."

Fabio sighed and put the book down. "What?"

"What do you think? We want a room."

"Fifteen bucks an hour. Ten dollars extra for clean-up."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "Huh?"

Fabio leaned forward and pointed to the faded, pealing price list taped to the glass.

Bobby stepped up behind Jack and snorted a laugh. Jack looked over his shoulder. "What?"

"I don't judge. Ain't my place to tell you what's right and wrong. I'm here to make a buck, same as she is," Fabio said, his voice muffled through the rusted speaker.

That made Bobby positively cackle.

"Seriously," Jack said. "What?"

"He thinks she's a pro." Bobby was laughing so hard he was wheezing.

Jack looked past Bobby to Jolene. She was struggling to get her suitcase out of the backseat, her skin tight jeans hugging every curve, shirt tied at the waist, boobs on display like a dessert bar at a diner. She was cursing at the bag, the wheels refusing to roll on the rocky ground.

Fabio stood up from his rolling chair, peering out at the scene that had Jack's attention. "Suitcase? She certainly comes prepared."

XxXxXxXxXx

The key stuck in the lock, but Jack had a sinking feeling there was a lot of sticky stuff all over that motel. Bobby finally shoved it open and they were greeted with a stale cigarette smell mixed with that canned air freshener scent that always made Jack think of nursing homes and old ladies wearing house coats and taupe-colored pantyhose.

Bobby flicked on the light switch and Jack thought it might be better just to spend the next eight hours or so in the dark. Old, worn and dingy. Well, you get what you pay for.

Jolene was about to step through the door when Bobby slammed it in her face. The knock on the door was short, sharp and angry. She wasn't smiling when Bobby opened it.

"Get your own room."

She stuck her foot in the way before he could slam the door shut a second time. "This place isn't safe. You can't make me stay in my own room."

"Bobby …" Jack started. It's amazing how you can tell from behind that a person was pissed – he could actually see Bobby's neck muscles tighten ever so slightly and his spine stiffen. Jack took a step back, sitting his guitar and suitcase on one of the saggy beds.

Jolene obviously sensed she might have an ally. "Jack, tell him I hardly snore and that you won't even know I'm here."

"He didn't know you were there last night because he was drunk off his fucking ass," Bobby interjected. "Besides, there are only two beds."

They were lucky they had those two – it took several minutes to convince the guy they needed a room for more than a couple of hours and that Jolene was, in fact, not a prostitute. Fabio had obviously had his head in his Harlequins for too long because he couldn't fathom that some wild threesome wasn't about to happen under his dilapidated roof.

"I can sleep on the floor," Jack said, digging through his bag for the cell phone charger.

"Goddamn it, Jack. Grow a fucking set of balls. No means no."

XxXxXxXxXx

Bobby glared at the bathroom door. "How long can one person spend in the bathroom?"

Jack shrugged, his back against the pillows he propped against the end table situated between the two beds. He had created a makeshift bed on the floor, using every free blanket they could get the front desk guy to give them. He told himself it was no different than his shitty apartment in New York – he and his buddy Steve had rarely, if ever, cleaned the place and while they saw a cockroach here and there, they tended to keep to themselves. He was hoping Midwest cockroaches were just as considerate as East Coast ones.

Jolene came bouncing out of the bathroom in a t-shirt and boxers, definitely not the red lace bra and panties she'd worn last night.

Bobby shut the lamp off before she even reached the bed. "Goodnight, y'all," she said and the phone rang.

Bobby groaned, turning the lamp back on and reaching for the cell Jack left on the end table. They'd tried Jerry earlier, but it had gone to voicemail.

"Yeah," Bobby said and Jack could barely make out Jerry on the other end, obviously rushing through something because Bobby interrupted. "Slow down, man. What was that?"

A loud knock on the door shot through the room and Bobby grunted at Jack as he stood up to get it. "I got it." He had a gun in his hand so fast that Jack had no idea where it even came from. He tossed the phone and Jack caught it, mumbling to Jerry that it would be a second.

He realized Bobby wasn't as on the ball as he liked to claim because he barely had time to raise the pistol when the door pushed open and some massive guy pushed through, smashing Bobby in the face with his fist.

"Fuck," Bobby yelled before barreling at the guy's stomach with his shoulder, gun forgotten.

Jolene sat up in bed. "Jimmy!"

"Jimmy?" Bobby and Jack both said simultaneously.

The guy who was apparently Jimmy had Bobby in a chokehold. "Jolene, what the fuck are you doing with these guys?"

"You know this fucking asshole?" Bobby ground out as he flailed, his fists landing with a solid _thunk_. "Who is he, your pimp?"

Jolene was chewing her bottom lip and twisting the hem of her t-shirt in her hands. "He's my husband."

Jack picked up the phone. "Uh … we'll call you back, Jer." His brother asked what was up and Jack sighed. "Oh, you know - the usual. Someone's kicking the shit out of Bobby."


	27. Chapter 27

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Old Enough_ by The Raconteurs

**Chapter 27**

_The only way you'll ever learn a thing  
Is to admit that you know absolutely nothing_

"Oh, baby. Yes, baby. Oh, baby."

Bobby struggled not to hurl right there on the steps of his mother's house. The gas station burrito sucked going down and there was no fucking way it would taste better coming back up.

A moan, followed by a groan, and another round of "Oh, babies." Either Evelyn was watching porn or one of his brothers was getting lucky on the other side of that door. He couldn't decide which would be worse to walk in on.

Figuring it wasn't a time for subtlety, he pushed the door open, hoping to scare the crap out of whoever was on the other side. As the oldest, it was his sworn duty to embarrass the hell out his brothers whenever he caught them with a chick. A high-pitched stream of Spanish filled the room from the general direction of the couch and unless his ma started taking Spanish classes without telling him, that scratched her off the list of potential "Oh, baby" suspects.

He stepped into the family room, keeping his face blank – using the look that had won him many fights before the first punch had even been thrown.

"Shit! Bobby!" Definitely not Evelyn.

Fifteen-year-old baby brother Angel was on the couch, scrambling to pull his pants up. Some half-naked broad who Bobby had never seen was standing and yelling and pointing and doing all the shit that made Bobby stick with hockey groupies and strippers – anything was better than a ball and chain with a loud mouth and loud opinions.

Angel grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. "Bobby, what are you doin' home?" he whispered.

"Suspension."

Angel cleared his throat. "I, uh, got company."

"Thanks for the newsflash, baby brother. Figured she wasn't selling Girl Scout cookies."

Angel grinned his big shit-eating grin. "Oh, she's got cookies worth buyin'."

Bobby tried not to throw up in his mouth and Miss Thin Mint was apparently not too keen on being compared to a three dollar box of cookies.

"What did you just say, Angel Mercer?" Her nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed. Hands on her hips, she made no motion to cover herself and Bobby felt a surge of fear for his little brother. The guy obviously couldn't see past her big boobs and gorgeous face to the dangerous trap he was being led into. Like a lamb to the fucking slaughter, his brother didn't stand a chance.

"Nothin', baby. I was just kidding around. You know, brother stuff." Angel waked over to his apparent girlfriend, adding a little punch of swagger to his walk, but failing to look all suave and cool when he accidentally tripped over the coffee table. He went to put his arm around her shoulders, marking his territory, but she shrugged it off.

"So this is one of your brothers?" She looked Bobby up and down and he didn't like the way her eyes flashed. It was like looking in a mirror and seeing a chick-version of himself staring back. Stubborn and pissed off at the world. Either Bobby was going to hate this chick or he was going to wind up screwing her behind his brother's back.

"Yes it is, baby," Angel said. "Um, Bobby, meet Sofi."

Sofi rolled her eyes and Bobby grimaced. "Fucking charmed, I'm sure."

XxXxXxXxXx

"Yo, another round for me and my friend here," Bobby barked at the bartender. Guzzling the last of his beer, he sat the empty bottle on the bar and flexed his knuckles, wincing as the cuts spread and the bruised joints protested. Between that night and the one before, he wasn't even sure which fight caused which injuries, just that his body was one giant ache and he hadn't felt that good in ages.

The bartender placed two cold bottles in front of him and his brand new friend, Jimmy. Picking it up, Bobby tilted it, clanging it against the other guy's bottle in a half-assed toast. "To dumb broads who cause trouble."

"Amen," Jimmy said, taking a swig of his bottle.

"How do you do it, man?"

Jimmy raised his eyebrow as far as his swollen eye would allow. Bobby mentally patted himself on the back. Before they decided to end the fight, he'd gotten in some pretty good hits. "Do what?"

"Put up with her shit?" Bobby shook his head, Jolene's raptor-like screeches still echoing in his ears. "Broad like that, I would've thrown a goddamn party if I came home and found her bags packed and her ass off the couch. More trouble than they're worth."

Jimmy shrugged. "Easier to hold on to her than worry about all the crap you gotta go though to get rid of her."

"You obviously haven't been stuck in a car with her for six hours."

Jimmy snorted a laugh. "You think she's bad, you should meet her mother."

"That's why I prefer the broads who don't want a relationship. Get laid and then send them on their merry way. No mother-in-laws, no rugrats, no fucking anniversaries to forget and then get bitched out over. I'm tellin' you, man, ditch her and see what you're missing."

Shaking his head, Jimmy studied his beer bottle and sighed. "You don't understand. You need to find the right one and then you'll see."

Revulsion swept over Bobby. Next Jimmy was going to start talking about feelings and finding yourself and all kinds of crap that gave Bobby hives. "What is this, fucking Phil Donahue?"

Grinning, Jimmy tipped his bottle at him before taking a swig. "Just tellin' you the truth."

Bobby figured this dumbass needed to know the truth and laid it out on the bar bluntly and without warning. "She fucked my kid brother."

Jimmy shrugged. "Nobody said marriage was perfect."

XxXxXxXxXx

Bobby looked in the rearview mirror as he pulled away from the motel. Jimmy was hauling Jolene's massive suitcase into his pickup truck as she stood there, arms crossed, looking miserable. She'd tried to convince her husband to drop his life and head on out to California with her, where she was certain to be discovered and become the next big thing. He refused and Hollywood had barely escaped a fate worse than death.

"Take one last look, little bro. Ain't too often you get to see your mistakes in the rearview mirror as you leave them on the curb and you drive off. You got lucky."

Jack snorted a laugh.

Bobby smacked him across the back of the head. "And that's not what I fucking meant. Start using your big head for a change and quit dicking around."

Rubbing the back of his head, Jack rolled his eyes. "Bobby, I don't need a speech. She was cute and it was fun. You do remember fun, don't you?"

"I remember we got bad guys who want to shoot you full of holes right behind us and not a whole lotta time to figure out how in the hell we're gonna get out of this mess. Your little detour into Jo-fucking-lene could have really cost us, and I just don't mean time."

XxXxXxXxXx

"What? Is she okay? Is the car okay?" Jack was on the phone and Bobby wasn't liking his side of the conversation. One eye on road, Bobby reached over and grabbed the phone from his brother.

"You better tell me what the hell is going on and you better tell me fast," he practically yelled, not even bothering to find out which idiot back home was on the other end.

"Whoa, chill, Bobby." It was Angel.

"What's this about a car accident?"

"I coulda told you," Jack said, sliding down in his seat, giving that dejected look that must come in some instruction manual for younger brothers.

"Sofi was in a car accident. She's fine. The car's in the shop," Angel said with a sigh.

"And …" Bobby prompted.

"It looks like the brakes were cut."

"Goddamn it." Bobby tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He felt so useless where he was. It wasn't like sending the one of them who worked the best under pressure thousands of miles from home was the best plan he'd ever had. Jerry and Angel could handle anything, but they needed him to call the shots. "She's okay?" he asked, figuring he should show a little concern for the broad.

"She hurt her jaw, so the doc said no talking for a few days."

Bobby barked a laugh. "Just my shitty luck, the one time I'd want to be home and would enjoy the fucked-up Brady Bunch we've managed to assemble under that roof, and I'm on the road with Jackipoo and his libido."

"Huh?" Angel said.

"Long story short, there are worse things than La Vida Loca out there."

"Hey, that's my fiancé you're talking about. Just quit it, man."

Bobby looked out the window. He was at the point where he didn't even know what state they were in anymore. The whole reason for this trip had been to postpone the inevitable and he was ready to just end the whole damn thing and see what the outcome was. This was like a boxing match that had worn out its welcome and he'd give anything for a final bell to sound.

"Anything else?" Bobby asked, knowing full well there was something his brother hadn't told him yet. You'd think three guys who were reasonably smart would have realized after all this time that you just don't keep things from him. He'd figure it all out eventually. Lay it all on the table at once and get it over with – made him less likely to shoot them when he did find out.

"Uh …" _Jesus Christ_ , if there was one word Bobby wanted to rip from the English language and tear into a thousand little pieces and then set it on fire, it was "Uh".

"What?"

"We got help."

"Help? What the hell does that mean?" Things were worse than he thought. He couldn't figure it out, he'd been gone from their lives for a stretch of time and they seemed to handle wiping their asses just fine without him standing next to the toilet, giving them instructions on how to hold the toilet paper. How was it that they were fucking this up so completely?

"Green." Angel said, like Bobby was supposed to do a dance of joy on the roof of the car because somehow their help came in the form of a dead cop.

"Are you dipping into La Vida Loca's pain killers?"

"Not Green Green, his kid brother."

Bobby racked his brain for a name. He remember the skinny kid who tagged along _everywhere_ they went, worshipping his older brother. "Marcus," he said finally.

"Yep, Marcus. He showed up at the door the other day. He wants to find the guys responsible for Green's death."

Bobby waited for more, but the sound grew muffled like Angel had put his hand over the receiver and Bobby could barely make out what he was saying. "Shush, baby. I'm getting to that."

Bobby narrowed his eyes. "Why are you shushing her? Thought you said she can't talk."

Angel sighed the sigh of a man trapped with a woman for all eternity. "She's waving her hands at me."

"Jesus Christ, let's try to fucking focus here, Angel."

"I am focused, Bobby. This ain't exactly the easiest thing I've ever had to tell you." Suddenly Angel sounded nervous and that wasn't like him. Cautious? Sure – not Jerry-level of cautious, but Angel was a little less guns-blazing than Bobby when it came to dealing with things like getting the wrong change at the grocery store. Worried? Occasionally, especially when they thought Jack wasn't going to make it. But nervous? Never.

"If you don't spit it out, I'm turning this car around and driving to Detroit so that I can personally beat the shit out of you tomorrow night."

He could hear Angel take a deep breath. "Green is …"

_Green is what? Cop? Gangster? Cross dresser?_

"FBI agent."

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack glanced out the window at the motel they'd just passed. "Uh, there's another one." It was getting dark and Bobby usually liked to stop around that time to grab a bite to eat and call it a night.

Bobby rolled his head, cracking his neck. "Don't care. We ain't stopping tonight."

"I know this is going to get me punched, but …"

His older brother glared at him, but Jack ignored it and carried on with his new-found quasi courage that was actually frustration masked by guts. "You aren't as young as you used to be and you look a little beat."

"What is it with my kid brothers just begging to get the shit kicked out of them today?" Bobby asked no one in particular.

"Huh?"

"FBI. They think it's a good idea to work with the goddamn FBI."

"Is it a bad idea?" Jack asked and the look he got told him that if he could, Bobby would open his door and push him out of the moving car into a ditch.

"There are bad ideas and then there are _bad_ ideas. This is a _bad_ idea."

Jack twisted the cuff of his shirt, starting to worry that if Bobby thought Angel and Jerry were making bad decisions, then things might be a lot worse than he thought. He tried to reason with his brother. "He's one of us, from the neighborhood," he pointed out. "He wants revenge just like we did with mom."

"Don't matter. A fed is a fed is a fed. It's like a part of their brain has been removed when they get that badge."

"You liked Green." Hell, Jack even liked Green and if there was one thing he hated growing up, it was tall men in dark suits who could arrest him. It took him a long time to trust that the soft spoken concern wasn't just an act and that Green was a genuinely nice guy trying to make a difference and that he wanted to keep Jack out of trouble.

"Cops are different. They sometimes look the other way. They got rules, but the good ones know that rules can be bent. FBI guys have to measure the length of their fucking shoe laces after they tie them. Everything is about regulation."

"You're just exaggerating." Jack leaned his head against the passenger side window, looking out at the vast darkness that seemed to descend upon them out of nowhere.

Bobby shook his head, nostrils flaring. "No, I'm not. I wish I was, but I'm not."

They drove in silence, the radio off and the road stretching endlessly in front of them. After a few dozen miles, Bobby took a deep breath, and Jack looked over at him. He looked pale in the light emanating from the dashboard and it was like a ghost was driving the car. Bobby didn't take his eyes off the road, but Jack could still feel the full brunt of his stare.

"Jack, I fucked up. This plan ain't working and I don't know what to do."

Bobby couldn't have scared him more if he told him the world was ending tomorrow.


	28. Chapter 28

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Chances Are_ by Garrett Hedlund

**Chapter 28**

_One foot on the narrow way and one foot on the ledge_

Jack was becoming an expert on roadside diners and he realized, with his extensive research the past few days, that diners fell into three distinct categories:

1\. The trendy hipster spot with gourmet coffee and new songs on the vintage jukebox.

2\. The neighborhood staple. Good food, good talk, the regular guy sitting on the corner stool, eating his 8000th piece of cherry pie.

3\. The shithole.

During the course of the kidnapping trip of absurdity, Jack had come to realize that Bobby had a knack for finding diners that fell into category number three. If there were letters not lit on the sign and trucks on cinderblocks parked out front, Bobby was sure to pull over. The latest was, according to the sign, 'hu k's' and had a tired dog tied up outside, panting in the hot sun. The mutt was begging to be rescued and Jack could relate.

"Another day, another diner. You're becoming predictable, Bobby." Jack yawned and stretched as Bobby pulled into the empty parking lot. "I don't feel like getting food poisoning today. There was a Howard Johnson a couple miles back. Can't we go there instead?" Jack figured it was a reasonable request.

"Whine, whine, whine," Bobby mocked with a high-pitched voice, slamming the car door behind him. This is how you see America, not at a Howard Johnson."

Jack slowly got out of the car, feeling like he'd been folded up inside a tiny box for a dozen days. "Well, no one told me seeing America meant getting a round of tetanus shots." He limped up to the entrance, grimacing as he pushed open the rusty screen door, the hinges grinding more than squeaking. Even the door was wondering why they were bothering with the place.

The inside did little to impress Jack. It's always a good sign when you have to duck to miss getting a length of used flypaper stuck in your hair. A woman at the counter nodded at them; her hair was teased so high it practically skimmed the ceiling. "Sit anywhere, fellas. Be right with ya." Every syllable was drawn out, drifting in the hot, heavy air.

Jack slumped into the booth in the farthest corner and fought the urge to lay his head on the table. Even if he couldn't get a decent meal out of this place, maybe he could shoot for a nap. Driving straight through the night wasn't the most conducive to a good night's sleep, not to mention that it currently felt like someone was making a fist behind his knee cap and slowly twisting it.

He fished his pain pills out of his jacket pocket and sat the bottle on the table as a silent reminder to his brother that he wasn't one hundred percent and perhaps he should take that into consideration. He would never admit it out loud, but friendly little hints never hurt anyone. A normal person would feel at least a small stab of guilt.

He remembered something else he had in his pocket and pulled it out with a grin, laying it on the table next to the pills.

Bobby sat down, somehow looking more refreshed than anyone who had just driven for twelve hours straight had any right to. Stubborn asshole.

"What the fuck is that?" Bobby growled.

"What the fuck is what?"

"Don't play dumb, Jackass. You know exactly what I'm talking about." He picked up the object he was referring to and winged it across the table, smacking Jack dead center in his forehead.

Jack picked it up and made a show of examining it closely. "Oh, this? This is what normal people would call a map. They use them for this thing called directions."

"Oh, you're hilarious. Shoulda skipped the rock star act and tried for world's lamest comedian."

"Maybe in my next life."

Bobby opened the map and spread it out. His finger traced the route Jack had highlighted. "What's this lead to? Some famous gay bar you've been dying to visit."

"It's the address you have."

"Thought you didn't want to get there and here you've plotted the whole trip."

The waitress, Florence according to her nametag, came to the table with two coffee cups, a pot, and stained menus. She made quick work of getting it all on the table before walking off again to give them time to decide.

Jack picked up the menu even though he already knew what he was going to order – same thing he always ordered. "Getting there means we can turn around and go home. If I ever see another car again, it will be too soon. Kerouac was full of shit – this on the road stuff sucks and I'm flying home."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Are you on your period or something?"

"We're almost there. You can't find a random house in a random neighborhood in a random town by using the Force."

"The what?"

"The Force?" Jack waved his hand. "Use the Force, Luke …" Bobby's expression didn't change and Jack shook his head. "You really have no idea what I'm talking about?"

"Use the force? Is that what you tell your boyfriends?"

Jack mentally smacked himself up the head for walking into that trap – save Bobby the trouble of doing it himself. He picked up the sugar shaker and pounded it on the table, hoping to loosen at least a tablespoon of the petrified stuff for his coffee. It wasn't working. Annoyed, he unscrewed the lid and started digging at it with his knife.

"Goddamn it. Pretty sure this sugar is older than I am." He held up the bent knife and tossed it on the table, giving up.

"And that is why you don't get a gun," Bobby said, shaking his head in disappointment. "You let the sugar win."

"Whatever, man." He took a sip of the coffee and winced. Instant. He sank back into the seat, stretching his leg across the booth and leaning his head against the window. Tired didn't even begin to sum up how he was feeling. Bobby was sitting there like he didn't have a care in the world, which had to be bullshit considering what he had admitted last night in the car. "What did you mean last night? When you said you were scared?"

Bobby eyes grew frigid and Jack immediately wished for a time machine so he could go back thirty seconds and tell himself to not be such a dumbass. "Forget I said that," Jack added in a rush. Bobby didn't blink, not even when the waitress finally took their order.

The crappy food arrived and Jack forced the rubbery eggs and cold hash browns past the lump in his throat. Bobby just kept staring.

"You think something bad is going happen, don't you?" Jack finally found his voice again. Somehow, the closer they got to California, the more real this all seemed. Maybe he'd watched too many movies where all the decisions of the main character led to an inevitable conclusion and all you could do was sit and watch it unfold, wishing for all the world there was a way to keep it from happening. Man, he liked some melodramatic movies.

"What do you think?" Bobby asked.

Jack smeared the ketchup on his plate, absentmindedly making a frowning face. "I don't know … my gut is telling me something bad has already happened."

"Listen to your gut, Jackipoo." Bobby sighed, digging into his pancakes."Listen to your gut."

"How much longer? Should we just turn around?"

Bobby shook his head. "Can't be much longer. Might as well finish what we started, get back to Detroit in time to be part of the clusterfuck your two sisters are engineering with the feds."

Florence returned with their bill and before she could leave, Bobby whipped out Jack's map. "How far to," he squinted, trying to read the small print, "Santa Rosa, California?"

Flo scratched her beehive with the tip of her pencil and clucked her tongue as she did some quick calculations in her head. "Give or take breaking down in the desert, I would say you boys have about six or seven hours to go."

Six or seven hours. It sounded simultaneously like an eternity and the blink of an eye.

"Santa Rosa? That's wine country, ain't it?" Flo asked.

Bobby shrugged. "How the hell would I know?"

"It's pretty out there. Very romantic." She smiled and winked. "You boys will love it."

Bobby furrowed his brow and Jack choked back a rush of laughter. "What?"

"It's very romantic, Bobby," Jack said, raising his eyebrows and grinning.

"What?" He was turning an interesting shade of red.

Flo sighed. "Long road trip. Sipping wine. The stars filling the sky. I miss my Charlie."

"Oh, sorry …" Jack started.

"Jail," she added with the shake of her head. "But you two …"

"Yeah," Jack said with a wistful smile, reaching out and putting his hand on Bobby's arm. "Us two."

"Get your fucking hand off me, fairy."

Jack looked up at Flo and winked. "That's his pet name for me."

Flo sighed again, clutching her notepad to her chest. "Such a cute couple."

XxXxXxXxXx

Bobby marched out of the diner, Jack limping behind him.

"Get in the fucking car," he ordered.

"Jesus, Bobby, it was a joke." Jack looked up at the bleached out sky and sighed. "You know, those things you hurl at people all day long? A joke."

"Get. In. The. Car."

That was the last thing Jack wanted to do at that moment. He'd be safer in nest of rattlesnakes, but he got in anyway, trying not to wince as the door slammed shut.

They drove in silence for several miles before Jack gave up and let the joke he'd been holding onto finally slip out. "If it makes you feel any better, you're not my type."

The punch to the arm was worth it – it was a damned good joke.

XxXxXxXxXx

"Baby, the wedding stuff just has to wait. We got more than we can handle with Sweet." Sofi was getting far too good at saying a thousand words with a single glance, glare, glower, grimace – whatever you wanted to call it, Sofi was a master of it.

Jerry and Marcus were on their way over. Evelyn's house had become a war room of sorts, with Marcus going over his plan over and over again. Every time he heard it, Angel got more uneasy.

Bobby didn't like the idea of them working with the feds and it wasn't exactly like Angel was jumping for joy over it, either. Jerry, however, needed there to be a structure to things and Marcus was providing that. If it could be made into a checklist, then Jerry was a happy man.

Usually, he would have slammed the door on a badge, but finding out that the brakes had been cut clouded his vision. Sofi had been a target, or at least the person who would have been driving the van was the target, but that had fallen on Sofi and he saw red at the thought of anyone coming after her.

Sofi getting hurt then lead to thoughts of Camille and the girls and his blood ran cold. This had to stop and it had to stop now. None of them were safe and the way things were going, Jerry and Angel weren't getting the job done. It was like Marcus knocking on their door was an answer to their prayers.

The dude was good, too. He had it all worked out – they needed to get Sweet onto their turf and not hidden up in some office in New York, shielded behind his cash and cronies. Jerry would set up a meeting with Sweet, begging with hat in hand to cut a deal and bring an end to everything. Marcus was betting on Sweet seeing a greater opportunity in having a Mercer on his side than a Mercer in the morgue.

Get some incriminating stuff on tape, using state of the art recording equipment that not even a big shot crime lord would have seen yet, and then go in and arrest the son of a bitch. Angel appreciated the plan, but it didn't mean he liked it. At least it was better than some of Bobby's plans which usually just consisted of blowing shit up.

Angel had a sinking feeling, though, that there weren't going to get out of this whole thing without shots being fired. Or an explosion or two …

XxXxXxXxXx

Sweet twisted his signet ring as he leaned back in his chair. "A meeting has been set up," he said into his cell phone. "I leave for Detroit tomorrow. Things had better be set on your end."

"We've got everything under control, sir," the voice on the other end assured him. He was talking to Mike, the less stable of the two men he had going after Mercer and the brat. Mike chuckled, followed by a muffled sound Roy couldn't make out. "Our insurance is being very cooperative and we're well ahead of schedule."

"I need this to be wrapped up quickly."

"Not much longer, sir. Soon, you'll have two less Mercers to worry about."

Roy picked up a framed picture he had on his desk. Victor. Young and full of promise. "I want you to make Bobby Mercer suffer like I've suffered. I want him to be helpless while the people he cares about are taken from him. "

"Yes, sir."

"Don't disappoint me. If you do, you might as well turn your gun on yourself and end it before I get to you."

Mike gulped, his voice losing it's edge of arrogance. "Understood, sir."


	29. Chapter 29

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _The Kids Are Ready To_ Die by The Airborne Toxic Event

**Chapter 29**

_The day will come when it falls like a cheap house of plastic.  
And the cards we were dealt, tossed like a storm in the sky._

"Did you know this was going to happen?" Jack asked, staring out the window at the small house and the ominous looking car parked across from it with two guys sitting in it, trying so hard to not be obvious that it might as well have been painted hot pink and decked out with flashing neon sign declaring _Shady Hit Men Sitting Right Here_.

"Was this part of your plan, Bobby? Because I swear to God …"

"Damn it, Jack," Bobby slammed his fist on the steering wheel, "give me some credit here. No, it was not part of my plan."

"Well, how did they wind up here?"

"No fucking clue."

The whole six hour drive there, Jack spent worrying about what to say, how to stand, should he shake hands, should he hug her, should he just vomit in the car instead of waiting to do it on her doorstep. The last thing he thought he should be worrying about was a couple of bad guys staking out the house of the woman who gave birth to him, waiting to off him to fulfill some whack job's idea of vengeance.

He could list a thousand reasons why they shouldn't even be there in the first place, but he had to go and let his brother steamroll over him and bully him into doing something he didn't want to do. He was fine just leaving it be. He had a family, fucked up as they were, and he didn't need to travel halfway across the country in some sort of misguided adventure like he was living life inside a Hallmark commercial, filling a void that could never be filled. Evelyn was gone. Finding the woman who let him go twenty-one years ago wasn't going to change that.

_All of this because of a letter_. Jack patted his pockets, dread settling in his stomach.

"Shit," he said.

"What?"

"The letter."

"Spit it out, Jackie, I'm not in the mood for twenty questions," Bobby said as he leaned over and opened the glove compartment, pulling out his loaded gun.

"The letter. I left it on the coffee table …"

"Yeah?"

"In Chicago."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

"So, technically this is your fault."

The air in the car grew thick and he slumped in his seat, trying to keep his whole body from shaking. _Fuck_ , he thought. The last thing he needed was a panic attack. "You think they searched your place?"

"If they even have only half a brain between the two of them, of course they searched the place."

The house looked empty, no cars in the driveway, not lights on inside. If they were lucky, no one was home. The whole street looked abandoned. It was mid-afternoon and there was a good chance almost everyone was at work or school.

Jack looked at the house again, really looked at it. It was nice. Your basic suburban middle class America. Yard was mowed, flowers planted in gardens that lined the front of the house, nothing special except that it wasn't Detroit and you couldn't hear sirens in the background, the typical inner city lullaby he'd grown up with.

"What are we gonna do?" Jack asked even though he knew his brother had been itching for a fight since before they even left Detroit and there was no way he was going to back down from this one.

"We ain't runnin'."

XxXxXxXxXx

Bobby drove the car to a quiet side street several blocks away so they could work through his plan and prepare to get shot at.

Looking around to make sure the coast was clear, he popped the trunk and, hesitating for a second, handed Jack the backup handgun he kept next to the gas can.

"For real?" Jack asked, suddenly not as comforted by the feel of the gun in his hand as he would have thought he would be.

Bobby scowled at him, looking almost uneasy as he watched his baby brother fumble to get a good grip on the gun. Jack had held guns before and Bobby had taught how to shoot and actually hit a target, but this was different and after going through Jack getting shot and almost dying, placing him in the path of more bullets turned his stomach to ice.

"For real," he answered. "And if you accidentally shoot me in the ass or something, I'm going to kick the crap out of you."

Bobby started to lower the trunk, when Jack stopped it with his arm. "Wait a sec." He leaned in and grabbed the tire iron. Holding it up, he shrugged. "Just in case."

"Start checking cars. Find one that's unlocked," Bobby said as he shut the trunk.

"Huh?"

"Well, I ain't using my car." He ran his hand over the roof, a protective look on his face. "She's a classic."

"A classic piece of shit."

Bobby made a show of pulling his gun out from his waistband and checking the clip. "She's classic," he said steadily.

"Whatever, man," Jack mumbled to himself as he made his way up the block, trying to casually check each car door. He looked about as inconspicuous as any guy over six feet tall, wearing a leather jacket and carrying a tire iron could look.

Bobby was doing the same thing, only skipping the casual part. He was a man on a mission. "Besides, we need a car with airbags." A small detail he decided to share with his little brother.

"What?" Jack asked, confused as hell. "Why would we need airbags?"

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack struggled to pry himself out from under the airbag that had deployed when Bobby rammed the stolen Honda into the side of the bad guys' car. Bobby was already out of the car, gun drawn, hoping to use those precious seconds of surprise to get the jump on Sweet's thugs.

The whole side of the other vehicle was caved in and Jack peered over the airbag, watching through the cracked windshield as the driver gave up on opening the door and instead pulled himself out the window. He was a big guy, easily dwarfing Bobby. Blood ran down on side of his face and he was holding his arm funny, but he had a gun in his hand and he looked pissed.

"Fuck," Jack said under his breath, finally giving up on the airbag and jamming the balloon with the pointy end of the tire iron. It deflated and he got the door opened, ducking as he got out of the car, cringing as though shots had already been fired.

He had the tire iron in his sweaty grip and then he remembered the gun. Hand shaking, he pulled that out of the back of his jeans, ready to help his brother, but not relishing the thought of putting a bullet in anyone. He half crawled around the back of the stolen car, ignoring the throbbing pain that shot threw his knee with each step.

The guy who had gotten out of the car started laughing – a creepy laugh that hit Jack like the sound of fingernails down a chalkboard. "Nice one, Mercer. A little crazy. I like that."

"I didn't come for a fucking conversation," Bobby answered, using the busted Honda as a shield.

"Why not just run? I would've of run. A smart man would've run."

"No one's ever accused me of being a smart man," Bobby boasted.

Jack squinted. "Uh, Bobby, I don't think that came out right."

"Shut the fuck up, Jack."

The guy opened his arms as if beckoning Bobby in for a hug. "Jack. You brought him to the gunfight. How thoughtful of you. Save us the time of tracking him down after we kill you."

"You first." Bobby fired, aiming for the guy's chest, but he dodged to the right at the last second and got hit in the shoulder. Not missing a beat, the injured man fired back and Bobby had to duck behind the Honda for cover.

The passenger side door opened and the other guy got out. He stayed low, not giving Bobby a clear target.

"Nice one, Mercer. Should have aimed a little more to the right, though." The guy had a smooth voice, almost like they were chatting over a cup of coffee, not seconds away from opening fire on one another.

He went to the back of the car and opened that door. Jack couldn't make out what he was doing, but he heard a muffled voice. He had no idea what was going on, but he had a feeling things had just gotten a lot worse.

"We brought along a guest of our own. I have a feeling you might already be acquainted." He rounded the corner, a hostage struggling in his arms, his gun pressed to her temple. Bobby jolted so suddenly that the car rocked.

"Remy," he said through gritted teeth. "Goddamnit."

XxXxXxXxXx

Remy was wearing Bobby's old jersey and not much else, unless you count the duct tape over her mouth and around her wrists, pinning them together. Disheveled, she looked tired, angry, and ready to kick some ass. Bobby had a feeling his ass might be on that list, but he was still so floored at seeing her that he let the big guy get the drop on him.

The thug fired and Bobby barely ducked in time, the bullet ricocheting off the car, shrapnel kicking up and grazing his scalp.

"Let her go," he shouted from behind the car. "She has nothing to do with this."

"Right. Whatever you say. Luther, let the bitch go," The injured guy said with a cackle and Bobby was beginning to doubt his sanity. "Did that sound convincing?"

"Sure, Mike. Very convincing," Luther said through gritted teeth as he tried to maintain his hold on Remy. She was putting up one hell of a fight and Bobby grinned. They really had no idea what they'd gotten themselves into.

Lurching her head back, she smashed into Luther's nose, the crunch carrying like a gun shot in the mid-afternoon air. His grip loosened and the gun wavered, pointing away from her as he reacted to the blood pouring down his face. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, Remy spun around and hauled her knee up into the guy's groin, doubling him over.

Bobby was about to run over to help her, when Mike fired at him again, keeping him pinned behind the car. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jack crouched down and making his way around the back of the two cars, apparently intent on rescuing Remy. Surprise was on his side, if he didn't fuck it up.

XxXxXxXxXx

_Don't fuck it up. Don't fuck it up. Don't fuck it up._ Jack could practically hear Bobby chanting in his head as he hurried as quickly as he could around the two smashed cars.

He had the gun and he had the tire iron but he was pretty sure he didn't have a clue what he was going to do with either one. If they made it through this alive, he was never going to put down his guitar again.

Remy had escaped Luther, but barely. He was getting his bearings back and was about to grab her again. Without a second though, Jack barreled into him, knocking him away from her, his knee giving out beneath him. A shot rang out and he felt something hot flare in his side, but adrenaline blocked it from his mind. He knew what it was, but he was going to pretend he didn't. Things worked better that way.

XxXxXxXxXx

Bobby watched as Jack went down. The gunshot scared the shit out of him, but he couldn't let it distract him.

Mike, however, let the moment pull his attention away for a second and a second was all Bobby need. He took aim and fired in one fluid motion, red blossoming across the asshole's chest. He looked down, a grimace of shock and disbelief on his face as he slid to the ground, unblinking and dead.

Bobby ran to where his brother had fallen. Luther was getting back up, Jack slumped on the ground behind him. Luther had his gun pointed straight at Bobby. Bobby was raising his gun just as Luther was about to pull the trigger. Suddenly Luther went still, his arm dropped, and he collapsed on the ground, revealing Jack standing behind him, holding the tire iron like he'd just swung a homerun.

"Knew it would come in handy someday." Jack gave a wobbly smile before passing out.

XxXxXxXxXx

"Let me see," Bobby said, his voice harsh and angry, but his chest tight and twisting. _Not again_ , was all he could hear ringing through his head. _Not fucking again._

Jack screwed his eyes shut and pulled his hand away from his side, his breathing fast and shallow.

"Jesus, you attract bullets like you're a fucking magnet."

"Am I dying?"

Bobby was almost afraid to find out the answer. Hands shaking, he pulled up Jack's t-shirt, soaked with blood. He got a good look at it and was embarrassed to feel tears fill his eyes.

"Oh shit, you're crying." Jack was staring straight at him, his eyes wide with worry. He laid his head back on the pavement. "I'm dying."

"You're not dying, drama queen. But you're gonna need a shitload of stitches."

Jack looked back up, his brow furrowing. "Huh?"

"Bullet dug through your side, but didn't go in." It was shallow, but it didn't mean Jack wasn't bleeding like a stuck pig and starting to go into shock. They needed to get him to a hospital soon.

"Hurts."

"I'm sure it does." Bobby pulled off his sweatshirt and balled it up, pressing it against Jack's side. He grabbed Remy's hand and put it over the make-shift dressing. "Hold this in place, put pressure on it. I'll be right back."

"Bobby …" She looked scared and Bobby realized he'd barely given her a second thought since Jack practically swooned at his feet.

He handed her Jack's gun, just in case and gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder. "I'll be right back."

XxXxXxXxXx

A quick search of the bad guys' car produced the duct tape they'd used on Remy and a cell phone. Bobby made quick work of taping up Luther before he regained consciousness.

Luther came to slowly and Bobby's patience was wearing thin. He pressed his gun against the asshole's forehead and tossed him the cell. He caught it, his hands taped together at the wrists.

"Call your boss and tell him the job is done," Bobby ordered.

Luther stared at the phone, his face pale. "But -"

"Tell him." Bobby pressed the gun harder, grinding against bone. "You think he's going to go easier on you than the cops? You tell him we're dead or he's going to fucking kill you."

The thug's hands were shaking as he dialed. "This isn't going to work."

"It'll work."

XxXxXxXxXx

Sirens sounded in the distance and Jack sighed. "What is it with everyone waiting until the end of a gunfight to call the police?"

He was leaning against the car, looking a little steadier now that he knew he wasn't going to die.

A station wagon drove down the street and pulled into the driveway of the house they were parked across from. A blonde woman got out of the car slowly, her eyes on the carnage across the street.

_Of course_ , Bobby thought, trying not to laugh at the whole fucked up situation. "Jackiepoo, your mother's here."


	30. Chapter 30

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Little Lion_ by Mumford and Sons

**Chapter 30**

_Tremble for yourself, my man,  
You know that you have seen this all before_

The door swung open and Jack's hand froze, the fork poised right in front of his open, waiting mouth. Evelyn was on the other side, wearing a pink bathrobe over her nightgown, a frown on her face and baseball bat in her hand.

"Jackie?" She looked confused and he gulped, feeling guilty for obviously waking her up and probably scaring the shit out of her.

"Ma." He gave a weak, half-assed grin, like it wasn't strange for him to be in her kitchen in the middle of the night.

"What are you doing here?"

He shoveled the pie into his mouth, not letting the awkwardness get in the way of food. "I was um … hungry," he said through the mouthful.

"Hungry?"

"Yeah. For your apple pie." He took another bite to demonstrate, raising the fork in a salute.

She arched an eyebrow. "They don't have apple pie in New York?"

"Not your apple pie."

Evelyn sighed. "Honey, that's Mrs. Smith's."

"Really? She a new a neighbor or something?"

Without another word, she went to the refrigerator and pulled out the milk and eggs. Shuffling about the kitchen, she grabbed a bowl and flour and a few other things, reaching over him to get to the cabinet that held the measuring cup. He ducked to make it easier. "Um …" he started.

"I don't have apples," she said and he squinted, confused.

"Okay."

"Chocolate cake okay with you?"

He grinned, suddenly understanding what she was getting at. "Chocolate cake would be awesome."

She measured out the flour. "In exchange for the cake, you're going to tell me what you're doing in my kitchen at two o'clock in the morning, hundreds of miles from where you should be."

He looked down, tracing that crack that ran through the counter top, a scar from that time Bobby tried to open a can of baked beans with a sledge hammer. It was a bet. Bobby won.

He didn't want to unload his problems and worries on his mother – the fact that the band wasn't doing shit-all when it came to becoming famous; the fact that he sucked at keeping a steady job and was having trouble making his half of the rent each month; the fact that drunken, stoned one night stands were becoming so frequent that he was afraid he was losing a part of himself with each faceless girl; the fact that he was so homesick his chest ached at night when everything was silent and he only had the dark and his thoughts to keep him company. He was like that crack in the counter, only it was getting wider and deeper and he didn't know how to make it stop.

Evelyn obviously knew he was having one of his inner monologue moments and she walked over to him. A gentle but forceful hand on his shoulder made him turn to face her. She smoothed his ragged hair back from his forehead. "Oh, Jackie," she said softly and suddenly he was a twelve-year-old kid again and she was comforting him over some "my world is ending" bullshit that was ruining his life.

"I miss you," he admitted, wishing for all the world that life's problems could be solved with chocolate cake.

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, rubbing his back like she used to do when he had nightmares. "I miss you too, sweetheart."

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack fidgeted with the rosary he'd wrapped around his hand. The nurse let him hold onto it when they wheeled him into the emergency room, probably taking one look at him and figuring he could use a Hail Mary or two.

His callused fingers worried the smooth, green beads, but it wasn't any "Our Fathers" he was thinking of, it was Evelyn and he could sense her standing next to him. She was holding his hand, telling him everything was going to be fine and that she was going to wring Bobby's neck for letting him get hurt. The doctor was stitching him up and jabbed the needle a little too hard. Jack squeezed Evelyn's hand, willing the pain to stop. He knew she wasn't really there – it was all in his head and in the pain killers they'd given him, but that didn't make it any less real.

He was going to be okay, but he'd lost some blood and felt shaking and unsteady and very close to a breaking point he was surprised he hadn't already crossed somewhere between getting shot and slamming a tire iron into some guy's head. His knee was fucked up, too – the Super Bowl-worthy tackle he'd done had taken him back to square one as far as his recovery was concerned. After some x-rays, they put him in a shiny new brace with the promise of many, many weeks of physical therapy. He was beginning to wish he'd never gotten into Bobby's car that day he bullied him out of bed.

"Just a few days in Chicago, my ass," Jack muttered under his breath. Evelyn was no longer next to his bed, but he could hear the ghost of her laugh.

Something crashed in the hallway. "He's my brother and I have every fucking right to be back here with him!"

Jack groaned, sinking back into the gurney, wishing Bobby didn't have to plow through life like a bull in a china shop. The nurse adjusted the flow on his IV and smiled down at him. He wanted to warn her, but couldn't figure out what to say.

The doctor was taping gauze over the long gash the bullet dug into his side. He was telling him the instructions for caring for stitches, but he already knew them by heart. _Been there, done that, got the t-shirt and souvenir shot glass_.

The curtain flew back, revealing his brother, blood stained and surly. Jack wondered if he could feign a panic attack and get some valium so he could sleep through the next dozen or so hours. The pain killers weren't making him nearly loopy enough.

"You shouldn't be back here," the doctor said.

"It's easier just to let him stay," Jack said. "Trust me."

The doctor pulled off his gloves and stood up. "You'll be sore for a few days. Take it easy, get some rest." Glancing at Bobby as he left the curtained space, he said, "The same goes for you."

Jack got a real good look at Bobby and noticed the butterfly stitches that disappeared into his hair and the bags under his eyes. "You look like shit, man," Jack said and Bobby grunted.

"Can we go now?" Bobby asked.

The nurse who was cleaning up the stuff they used to stitch up his side explained that Jack just needed to get some fluids back in him and a good dose of IV antibiotics and then he was free to go.

"Are you sure he doesn't have to stay overnight? He fainted, you know." Bobby perched himself on the edge of Jack's gurney.

If Jack could have moved his leg, he would have pushed him off the bed. "I didn't faint."

"Yes you did, Princess. Swooned was more like it, actually."

"I passed out. It's totally different."

XxXxXxXxXx

Bobby found Remy sitting alone in the waiting room outside the emergency room. Someone had given her a pair of green scrubs and she had Bobby's jersey clutched in her lap. He'd been so wrapped up in dealing with the cops and worrying about Jack that he'd forgotten about her – he could be a real asshole sometimes.

"Hey," he said, trying to sound casual.

"Hey," she said without looking up. She seemed fragile and that wasn't like her. "How's the kid?"

"The kid'll live."

"Good," she said, still not looking at him. "Cops?"

Bobby shrugged. "Turns out the feds aren't completely useless. We've got one working with Jerry and Angel back home and he took care of it."

"That's nice," she said, her voice flat, emotionless.

Reluctantly, he took the seat next to her. "What happened? How in the hell …"

"How in the hell did I wind up kidnapped in the back seat of that car? That car you rammed into without a second goddamn thought?" She looked at him and he almost threw up his hands to ward off the evil flashing in her eyes.

Scratch the emotionally damaged damsel in distress. She was pissed as hell. Bobby grinned. "Yeah, that car."

She threw his jersey at his head and he didn't bother to duck. "You're an asshole."

"An asshole who's sorry," he corrected, tossing the jersey onto the seat next to him. She narrowed his eyes, like she couldn't believe he was apologizing – hell, he couldn't believe it himself.

"I was scared," she admitted and he felt a knife a guilt twist in his stomach.

"I know."

"And pissed."

He snorted a laugh. "I know."

"I guess I'm glad they didn't kill you," she said, rolling her eyes.

He turned in his chair, their knees almost touching. "You mean that?"

She leaned forward, looking him straight in the eye. "Yeah, I would hate to lose my chance at putting a bullet between your eyes."

Bobby grinned. "Would it be completely out of line to kiss you right now?"

"Only if you want me to kick you in the balls."

"Is that a yes?"

XxXxXxXxXx

In what was becoming a serious case of déjà vu, Bobby helped Jack out the hospital's regulation wheelchair into the front seat of his car. He awkwardly handed Remy the crutches in the backseat. She rolled her eyes at him again and he didn't even know why. He was about to ask her what her goddamn problem was when common sense took over – she was woman and there was no way in a hell a sane man would ever give a woman an opening to talk about her problems.

It was probably the kiss – or rather, the kiss that never happened. Somehow, he'd still wound up with her knee buried in his groin, which seemed completely fucking unfair since she didn't keep up her end of the bargain. Kiss then kick. Not laugh in his face and then kick. Damn woman played dirty.

He shifted around a bit in his seat to get comfortable before starting up the car. "Buckle up, girls." Now it was Jack's turn to roll his eyes. "What's your problem?"

"I saved your ass. Don't you think it's time to stop with the fairy jokes?" Jack was slumped in his seat, leg stretched out stiffly in front of him, arm pressed to his injured side. He was a mess.

"You distracted the guy," Bobby said as he started the car.

"He was going to shoot you."

"I was going to get him. You just didn't give me a chance."

"Jesus Christ, Bobby, just say 'thank you'." Remy jabbed at the back of his seat with her knee, probably imagining his dick as her target.

He shifted in his seat again. "Thank you, Cracker Jack," he mumbled. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jack's self-satisfied smirk.

"Wasn't so hard, now was it?" Remy said, probably with another eye roll, but Bobby didn't bother looking in the rearview mirror to check.

"You're welcome, Bobby," Jack mumbled back, his head resting on the window.

Bobby glanced over at brother and patted him on the arm. "We'll stop at a craft store so you can bedazzle your tire iron. How's that sound, Warrior Princess?"

Jack groaned. "Fuck you, man."

XxXxXxXxXx

The bullet wounds, stitches and kidnappings won out over stopping for pink sequins, so Bobby pulled into the first cheap motel they came across.

Jack collapsed on the bed. "I'm going to sleep for a month."

"Flight leaves tomorrow afternoon," Bobby said as he dropped their bags on the worn, mustard yellow carpet.

"Wake me when we get there," Jack said with a yawn.

"We got one stop to make before we get to the airport."

The ceiling started to spin and he closed his eyes but that backfired on him. A woman was standing in the distance - blonde, pretty, a look of horror on her face. "We don't have to."

"But we need to."

Jack knew he was right, but he didn't want to give him the satisfaction of telling him that. They'd lucked out when she ran into the house instead of coming across the street to inspect the carnage. He could imagine how well that would have gone.

_"Hello there, Mrs. Vaughn. Sorry about World War III breaking out across the street from your house. Lovely yard. Those flowers are beautiful. Oh, by the way, I'm your long lost son you gave up for adoption twenty-one years ago. Sorry I can't stay and chat, but my ambulance awaits. Have a nice life."_

Bobby grabbed a beer from the six-pack they had picked up at a convenience store a few miles back. Popping the top, he took a huge gulp as he sat on the floor, his back propped against the sagging mattress of the bed Jack had claimed.

"She looked okay," Bobby said.

"I guess."

"Kinda hot."

Jack made a face and swung a pillow at the back of his brother's head. "Dude, that's my mom."

"Birth mom," Bobby corrected as he ducked.

"Whatever."

The sat in silence, Jack staring at the ceiling, Bobby drinking his beer.

Jack finally spoke. "What if she doesn't like me?"

"I can burn down her house."

Jack grinned. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Bobby crumpled up his can and tossed it toward the trash can next to the TV. It went in, of course. "If she doesn't like you, then she's a fucking idiot."

"Would you do the same thing, if you could? Would you try to meet your dad?" Bobby's mom was a drug addict and when she died, Bobby wound up in the system. He never knew his father, had no idea who the guy was. Hell, his mother probably didn't even know who the guy was. Once Jack had found out about Bobby's past – at least the little bit that Bobby felt like sharing - it wasn't too hard to figure out why the guy was so angry all the time. When you had to fight for everything you get in life, you become hard and one thing was certain, Bobby Mercer never backed down from a fight.

Bobby shook his head, lightly knocking his fist against the floor. "Nah. I don't think I would. Probably already met the guy when I was in prison anyway." He laughed, but Jack could tell his heart wasn't in it.

It sucked – not knowing where you came from, not knowing if your eyes were the same shade as your mom's, or if that weird way you laughed sometimes was exactly like how your dad laughed. Life was like a crapshoot – the roll of the dice could give you a tidy house with a white picket fence on a quiet street or it could land you in foster care with the shittiest of people, cowering in a closet, hoping they'd forget about you while they got drunk and went looking for something to hit. He thought about it – imagining a life that didn't involve the sad and scary stuff, but that meant no Evelyn or Bobby or Jerry or Angel and he thought maybe fate didn't totally suck.

"You know what, Jackie," Bobby said, interrupting his thoughts, "I lied. I would do it. I would meet the guy – just so I could know. Just so I could get a good look."

"Curiosity killed the cat," Jack said, rolling onto his side, punching the pillow into submission.

"Deep thoughts by Jack Mercer?" Bobby said, opening another beer.

"Always," Jack mumbled into the pillow, more asleep than awake.

XxXxXxXxXx

Bobby knocked on the door of the room next to his. "Go away," came the reply from the other side.

"It's Bobby."

"Go to hell," Remy shouted back, but he could hear her turning the locks on the other side. When she opened it, the chain was still in place.

"Hey," he said, like he was stopping by to borrow some milk.

"Hey," she answered. She looked past him, her eyes darting over the empty parking lot behind him. "Where's the kid?"

"He's sleeping. A bomb could go off and he wouldn't wake up. Can I come in?"

"Bobby, I'm not in the mood for more of your shit."

"You're in luck, I'm too tired to give you any shit."

She glared at him. "I doubt that."

He held up what was left of the sixpack. "I bring refreshments." The Coors Light cans glinted under the yellow light above her door.

"You drink crappy beer, Bobby."

"Don't blame me. Blame fucking California and the lame selection at the minimart."

She shook her head, making a tsking sound. "Taking responsibility for your actions is the first step to recovery."

"And just what am I recovering from?"

Hand over her heart, she gave her best sympathetic look. "A tragic case of being a pain in the ass." She started to close the door, but he jammed his foot into the opening before she could. "Bobby," she sighed, resting her head against the door.

"One drink. That's all I ask. Save me from listening to Jackie mumble in his sleep."

With about as much enthusiasm as a person being led to a proctology exam, Remy slid the chain off the latch and opened the door. "One drink," she said firmly. "Just one and then you get the hell out of here and out of my life."

XxXxXxXxXx

Bobby rolled over in bed, wincing as sunlight hit his eyes, forcing him to wake up. He blinked at the unfamiliar room, something he'd become accustomed to since the road trip had started – not knowing where the hell he was for the first few minutes of each day.

Someone groaned and he looked over, expecting to see Jack asleep in the other bed. Only there wasn't another bed and Jack was definitely not in the room. "What the …" he started, louder than he intended.

"What the what?" the voice next to him said drowsily, yawning. The sheets were covering his companion, but he had a sinking feeling he knew who he was going to find.

His companion rolled over, blinking as she woke up. She stared at him, her brain trying to process what was going on.

Bobby sighed and said, "Good morning, Remy."


	31. Chapter 31

Note: I still don't own _Four Brothers_ or _The Circle Game_ by Joni Mitchell

**Chapter 31**

_We can't return_

_We can only look behind  
From where we came_

"Oh no …" Remy pulled the covers over her head. "It wasn't a dream."

"Dream? Are you saying last night was like dream?" Bobby asked, raising his eyebrows with a self satisfied smirk.

Remy lowered the scratchy bedspread and gave him her best "give me a break" look. "Nightmare, I meant nightmare." She scooted up in bed, the sheets clutched across her chest, hair rumpled, not a stitch of makeup anywhere – she looked hot.

"Right, then why did you say 'dream'? You're slipping, Rem." He reached out and ran a fingertip over her tattoo that was on her upper arm, tracing it. A gun lying on a bed of roses. Steel and softness. He liked it.

She pushed his hand off her arm like she was swatting a pesky mosquito. "Whatever," she said. "If I could, I would shoot you right now, but someone has to drive Jack to the airport."

Bobby chuckled. "Pretty sure you didn't want to shoot me last night. If I recall, you made the first move."

She blew out a puff of air, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. "Beer goggles."

"You had one beer."

"Post traumatic stress. It's been a long week."

Taking a chance, he slid his hand under the cover and up her naked thigh. "Wanna go another round?"

"You're so romantic, Bobby," she said with annoyance, but she made no move to knock his hand away.

"You know you love it."

"What time is it?"

He didn't bother to look over his shoulder at the alarm clock on the end table. "Early."

He leaned forward, his breath on her neck as he moved his arm up around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She tilted her head to give him better access, and asked, "Jack?"

He nipped her shoulder. "Is not invited."

"Won't he wonder where you are?"

"Jack has never voluntarily woken up before noon in his life. We got time," Bobby said with a grin, rolling her on top of him.

XxXxXxXxXx

A car horn sounded outside and Remy groaned, ducking her head against Bobby's chest. "That's my cab."

"You might want to put some clothes on. Don't want to give the poor guy a heart attack."

She nudged him with her elbow and laughed. "Thanks for the tip, Bobby."

"No problem."

She pulled the blanket off the bed as she stood up, wrapping herself in it as she bent to pick up her crap that was scattered all over the room. She picked up Bobby's briefs and made a face, flinging them at his head.

"I didn't get to say good-bye to Jack," she said, stuffing everything into a cheap duffle bag she'd picked up when they stopped for her to get some clothes to replace the scrubs and Bobby's jersey.

"I'll tell him for ya." Bobby started to get dressed, wishing the morning could have lasted a little longer. The distraction was nice.

She stopped what she was doing and looked at him, for once the bitchy glare was gone and if he didn't know her better, he would have said she looked concerned and maybe a little bit worried. "This isn't over yet, is it?"

"I'm taking him to meet his mom," Bobby answered, choosing to ignore the fact that she was probably referring to guns and bad guys, not family reunions.

"Go easy on him." She said it with an edge, an unspoken threat.

"You say that like I won't."

She rolled her eyes. "You know you won't. It's like you don't even realize half the shit that comes out of your mouth."

The cab honked again, saving Bobby from having to argue that treating Jack like shit toughened him up. He could never understand why chicks didn't get that. It's like they think everyone needs to be coddled and protected. That didn't get you shit in the real world; all that got you was dead.

Remy gave him an awkward kiss on the cheek. "Stay safe," she whispered.

He blinked, not sure how to react to this Remy. He was used to the one who taunted him from behind the bar, the one who had fallen into his bed a few times to relieve the pent up tension that came from working in a strip club, the one who kicked him in the balls less than twenty-four hours ago because he'd jokingly asked for a kiss. He didn't know what the hell to do with the one who kissed him on the cheek and was worried for him. He'd obviously skipped a chapter when writing that book on finesse.

"I will," she said.

"What?"

"I will." She rolled her eyes. "That's what you say back, 'Thanks, Remy, I will.'"

"I will?"

She shook her head. "No you won't."

Bobby's head spun like he was back in high school algebra, one week before giving up and dropping out. "Jesus Christ, woman, make up your fucking mind."

A small smile played on her lips; she took his hand in hers. "You won't stay safe because you have no fucking clue how to do that. Promise you'll at least make sure there aren't too many pieces to put back together this time."

Bobby clenched his hand around hers. "There won't be enough of Sweet left for them ID."

"I don't give a shit about Sweet. I'm talking about you and your stupid brothers." Remy shrugged her bag over her shoulder. "Revenge is going to eat you alive."

"Sweet brought the revenge to my door this time – I didn't go looking for it," he argued to her retreating back as she headed for the door.

She stopped and spun around. "You just don't get it, do you?"

"Just what am I supposed to fucking get?"

She looked at the ceiling, like she was looking for divine guidance. "I know you're going to get Sweet. I get that. Whatever the cost, you're going to get him." She tilted her head, a look of disappointment worrying her brow and hardening her mouth. "But that won't be enough for you, Bobby."

"It will be plenty. It will be over."

"For now. But how long will that last?"

"Why do you care? You're talking like …" _Shit_ , he thought. He knew exactly what she was talking like. Like she was more than a quick fuck. Like he meant something to her. Like there could be something more between them. "No," he said outloud, interrupting his thoughts. "Last night wasn't more than some fun. This isn't some fucking romance novel where we go run off together into the sunset. That ain't you and that sure as hell ain't me."

Remy suddenly kissed him, stopping him in mid-rant. He kissed back, practically attacking her mouth. His hands fisted in her t-shirt, the urge to pull it over her head and tumble with her onto the bed so strong that he almost forgot about the cab waiting in the parking lot outside the room.

She pulled back, pushing him away from her as she brought her hand to her swollen lips. She gave him a strange look – part longing, part hurt, part pissed off - and then stormed to the door. She threw it open and looked back at him over her shoulder as she left. "You're a coward, Bobby Mercer."

XxXxXxXxXx

It was hard to pace on crutches, but Jack was getting really good at it.

He was on the sidewalk, across the street from where all hell had broken loose the day before, clomping back and forth with his head down, nervous as hell.

Bobby rolled down the car window. "Cracker Jack, we don't got all day, get your ass up to the door."

"Shut up, Bobby. You don't know how hard this is."

Bobby's scowl softened for a moment. "Look, I know this is hard. I'm not some fucking heartless monster - " Jack's sharp laugh interrupted him and he took a deep breath. "You're braver than you think."

Jack stopped his pacing, his head hanging down, eyes on the ground. His hands gripped his crutches, fingernails digging into the padding on the handholds. He sure didn't feel brave, not with his chest so tight it hurt to breath and his heart racing a mile a minute.

"He's right, you know," a soft voice said behind him. His instinct was to spin around, but he knew he wouldn't find anyone there.

"You're a bit biased, Ma," he said under his breath and she chuckled.

A ghost of a touch brushed across his forehead and it felt like someone took his hand in theirs, their grip warm and strong. "I'm right here with you, sweetheart."

XxXxXxXxXx

He saw the curtains stir in the front window as he made his way up the sidewalk. They'd probably called the cops on them – Bobby didn't exactly look like the Avon Lady sitting at the curb in that car that was straight out of an 80's crime flick and he'd seen better days himself, all battered and bandaged.

The door opened before he could ring the doorbell. A woman was on the other side, she was a lot shorter than him and her hair was the wrong shade of blonde, but she had the same weird color eyes he had – green one moment, blue the next and a stormy gray on those days he was so deep in his thoughts that Evelyn had joked that the clouds had taken up residence in his brain.

"Can I help you?" she asked, crossing her arms, filling the doorway, a silent "you stay on your side and I'll stay on mine" message. She was wearing a cable knit sweater and jeans, a pair of black Chucks gave him a little hope that he hadn't knocked on the Waltons' door.

He was about to answer, but he didn't get the chance. Recognition swept over her. _She knew_ , he thought. He wondered if the same thing would have happened to him if their positions had been reversed – if he'd opened the door to a stranger only to find his past staring back at him.

"Oh," she said quietly.

Not exactly the greeting he's imagined.

"How …" Her voice trailed off. She didn't make any move to let him in the house or to come out and join him on the front step.

"Letter," he tried to say, but his mouth was so dry, the word caught in the back of his throat. He swallowed and repeated, "Um, the letter. I read your letter."

Her brow furrowed. "I never sent a letter."

He dug into his coat pocket, digging out the crumpled letter the cops had given after taking the shooter into custody. Holding it out to her, he said, "You sent it to my mother. We found it after -" He had to take a breath. "After she died"

She looked down at the battered paper in his hand but didn't reach out to take it. "I wrote a letter, but I never mailed it."

He opened it, his hands shaking as he awkwardly balanced on his crutches. "You don't know me," he started, his voice rough, "but I'm the woman who gave up Jack for adoption. I'm not even sure if his name is Jack, but that's the name I gave him when I held him for the first and only time."

She reached out, placing her hand over the paper, silently asking him to stop reading. "I wrote it." She took a deep breath, her chest rising beneath the nice blouse she was wearing. She looked a lot like the house – nice, tidy, put together, but not too put together. Normal. He felt so out of place on her front step. "I write one every year," she said, "but I never mail them."

"Okay …"

She started to shut the door. "I'm sorry, I'm just not …" He couldn't hear her excuse as the door closed, leaving him on the porch with crumpled up sentiments that were apparently some sort of penance or therapy. He felt like an idiot. Even worse, Bobby had watched the whole thing.

Somehow he had a feeling the walk back to the car was going to be just as hard as the walk up to the door. As he turned to clumsily start the slow journey back, a movement near some bushes caught his eye. Squinting, he saw the bush move again. Figuring it couldn't hurt to look, he limped his way across the yard, his crutches sinking slightly into the damp grass.

"Hey," he said, and the bush gasped.

He nudged it with his crutch and the bush yelled out, "Go away."

"No."

"Please." It was a kid's voice, probably a girl or a boy who more than likely got the crap kicked out of him at school for sounding like a girl.

"Nope." He nudged the bush again.

The bush rustled some more and a girl appeared. She couldn't have been more than ten or eleven and she looked like he felt whenever Evelyn caught him doing something he shouldn't be doing.

She had on a t-shirt with a kitten on it – the kitten was playing a mean looking guitar and Jack couldn't help but grin. "Cool shirt," he said and she shrugged.

"Are you my brother?" she asked and he shrugged back at her.

"Depends. You in the habit of mailing your mother's letters for her?"

"Maybe."

"Got a place we could sit down?" He motioned to his leg. "I'm kinda beat here and could use a place to sit."

XxXxXxXxXx

Swings wouldn't have been his first choice but they worked in a pinch. He started to twist in the one he was sitting in until he was rudely reminded of the stitches holding his side together.

"Got a name?" he asked.

She shrugged again. At least he knew where he got that from. "Sam."

"I'm Jack." She was digging her toe into the dirt, not really paying attention to him, or at least trying to pretend she wasn't paying attention to him. Avoidance also seemed to be another family trait.

He looked up at the back of the house, not the least bit surprised to see the blinds move. He turned his attention back to Sam, not sure how to talk to a kid – no one ever talked to him like one when he was her age.

"So, um, what kind of music do you like?" Music was always his fallback topic when he couldn't think of a damn thing to say.

"Miley Cyrus," she said, her face lighting up. "And Britney Spears."

He made a mock look of disgust. "Seriously?"

She nodded, her grin showing a couple of missing teeth and an overbite that was going to need braces soon.

"Man, you need some good music. The Clash, The Cure, The Ramones …"

Now she rolled her eyes. "Sounds like old people music."

"Old people music?" His mouth dropped open. "They're classics."

"Uh … doesn't that just mean their old?"

"Better than Miley Cyrus."

Sam stopped digging in the dirt and looked right at him. She looked guilty as hell. "Did my mom make you leave?"

He tried to keep his expression bland, like it was every day the woman who gave birth to him shut the door in his face. "I think I freaked her out a bit. I don't think she was expecting me to show up out of nowhere."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Why did you mail the letter though?" He knew the second he found her behind the bush that she was the likely culprit.

"I don't know … I guess it's because she gets sad every year, around the fall." Sam started twist back and forth, the chains wrapping themselves around one another. "I just wanted to help. I found the letter – she had a bunch in her drawer. It was already in an envelope, I just had to put a stamp on it and mail it."

Sam jumped from the swing and picked up a stick, tapping it against the metal frame, making it ping in a rhythm that he had sinking suspicion was a girly pop song. He was already mentally preparing some mix CD's to ship to her when he got home.

"I always wanted a brother," Sam said as the stick kept tap-tapping. She actually kept the beat pretty good. Maybe music was in their genes.

He grinned. "So you mailed away for one?"

She looked like him, but she certainly didn't act like him. When he was ten, he kept his head down and tried his best to go through life like a ghost, ignored and unseen. Never worked, but he tried anyway.

She ignored the joke. "Did you ever want a sister?"

"Never thought about it. Got three brothers, though."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously." He nodded toward the front of the house. "One's out in the car now. He thinks he's scary, but he's not too bad."

"Mom and Dad are thinking about having another one. I think my mom wants a boy."

_She had a boy_ , Jack couldn't help thinking.

The back door slowly opened, drawing Jack's attention. Mrs. Vaughn, Susan, his mother, whatever made her way carefully across the yard. She stopped a foot from the swing set, her arms still crossed like they were when she greeted him at the door.

"I see you've met Sam," she said, her tone a thousand times friendlier than it had been. Maybe she'd had an epiphany or watched some Oprah while they were sitting outside.

"His name is Jack," Sam offered up and Susan smiled, softening her face, revealing the lines around her eyes that told him she smiled a lot.

"She kept it," she said soflty. "Your name, she kept it."

Jack shrugged. "Someone did. I don't really remember them." He didn't want to give her all the depressing details, but he didn't want to hide everything either.

A look of confusion crossed Susan's face.

"The family who adopted me, they were killed in a car accident when I was five," Jack explained.

Susan took a step forward, her hand at her throat. "Oh no … I didn't … I didn't know."

"Is that when you got a new family and three brothers?" Sam asked.

Jack felt those long years of foster care and being caught up in the system steamroll over him in a rush. It would be so easy – and so hurtful – to let the truth spill out. Sam was looking at him, open and trusting, wanting a connection he wasn't sure he was able to give. "Yeah," he said. "Eventually Evelyn adopted me. End of story." He swallowed heavily on the lie. He always sucked at lying.

He met Susan's gaze – her eyes were glassy and he was afraid she was going to cry. He didn't want tears. He sucked at handling tears. And he wasn't worth crying over.

"End of story?" she asked and he nodded. She smiled a sad smile. "You're a terrible liar."

"So I've been told."

"I'm sorry …"

He cut her off. "There's nothing to be sorry for." According to her letter, she was so young at the time and probably scared out of her mind. He had no right to judge her decisions and there was no crystal ball that would tell them how different things could have been. "My ma was great. I love my brothers. I have a great family."

"Maybe it's a little bigger now?" Susan asked tentatively. She still had her arms crossed; she still wasn't sure of him anymore than he was sure of her.

"Maybe," he said with a crooked smile.

She walked over to Sam and put her arm across her shoulders. "Lunch time, kiddo."

"But …" Sam pointed at Jack.

"You're more than welcome to join us," Susan said. "Plenty of PB&J for everyone."

Jack considered it for a second, then he heard the horn honk and he shook his head. "Nah, I've got Bobby waiting in the car and we've got a plane to catch. Trust me, Bobby and peanut butter and jelly don't mix."

She held out her hand and he shook it, formal and impersonal. Hugs would maybe come later, when they felt more natural, when they'd earned them. He ruffled Sam's hair and she giggled. "I'm going to send you some CD's – help expand your musical horizons."

"Only if I can send you some back," she challenged and he laughed.

"Deal." No one said he actually had to listen to them.

Grabbing his crutches, he started to make his way back to the car.

"Keep in touch," Susan called after him and he nodded, meaning it. He would try his best.


	32. Chapter 32

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Stopping By_ by Jason Isabell

**Chapter 32**

_Trying to get a match to burn_

_  
_

"The cavalry has arrived," Jack muttered as he limped through the door, dragging his crutches and duffle bag behind him.

Angel staggered down the stairs, shirtless, rubbing his eyes. "Hey, Jackiepoo. Shoulda called. Would've come and gotten you guys at the airport."

"Taxi was quicker."

Bobby pushed his way in behind Jack. "Little fairy needed his beauty sleep and wanted to get home ASAP. Think he missed his blankie or something ."

Jack just shook his head, his leg and side throbbing from being crammed in a shitty seat in economy, crying kids behind him, snoring old lady next to him, battery dead in his iPod and nothing to do but stare at the back of the seat in front of him. He used the time to plot a surprising number of creative ways to bring about Bobby's demise.

"Get down here, Angel," Bobby said, looking up the stairs at his sleepy brother. "We need to discuss our plans for tomorrow."

Jack sighed and Bobby glared at him.

"What?" Bobby snapped.

"It's one o'clock in the morning," Jack groaned, feeling like he'd walked a thousand miles to Detroit. "Can't that crap wait until daylight? You know nothing you plan will work out anyway."

Bobby jabbed a finger at him. "I'll have you know that my plans work fine."

Angel, still on the stairs, snorted a laugh. "That's open for debate."

"Kid's still breathing, ain't he?"

Jack cleared his throat. "Uh, the kid's back on crutches and has a shitload of stitches in his side."

"Better than dead."

"Day's not over yet," he mumbled and Bobby whirled around on him, nostrils flaring. Jack took a step back, catching himself before he fell backwards over the coffee table.

"That's not fucking funny," Bobby ground out between clenched teeth.

"Bobby," Angel interrupted, "I think Jerry's kids could come up with a better plan than you two after all the shit you've been through. Go to bed, get some sleep."

"Yeah, well I'm starting to think Jerry's kids are bigger men than the two of you will ever be." Bobby stormed up the stairs, pushing Angel against the wall in his haste to be rid of the two of them.

Angel watched him go by, shaking his head. "You guys have a fun trip?" he asked Jack.

"Remember that time we went camping?" Jack balanced on his crutches and pulled a cigarette out of the fresh pack he'd been fantasizing about opening ever since they walked through the doors at the airport.

Angel nodded.

Jack tucked the cigarette between his lips and mumbled, "Jerry got poison ivy, you got a concussion, I got lost for half a day, and Bobby somehow got arrested breaking into the ranger's station?"

Angel nodded again.

Jack pulled out his lighter and spun it around between his fingers. "I would go on that trip again in a heartbeat if it meant I would never have to get in another car with Bobby."

"That good, huh?" Angel laughed.

Jack nodded as he flicked open the lighter and raised the flame to the cigarette.

"Not in the fucking house!" Bobby yelled from somewhere upstairs.

"How the hell does he do that?" Jack asked, squinting up into the empty darkness at the top of the stairs. He awkwardly maneuvered himself and the crutches back outside, settling onto the top step of the stoop, hoping for a few minutes of quiet.

The door opened and closed behind him and Angel took the spot next to him, killing his alone time. "You okay?" Angel asked and Jack laughed.

"We're back to that again?" He lit his cigarette, pulling a smooth drag of smoke into his lungs, thankful that the pull of the scar in his chest had eased and he didn't have to worry every time he took a deep breath that a vice was going to wrap around his ribs.

Angel cuffed Jack on the arm. "Keep stepping in front of bullets and it's never gonna stop, trust me."

Jack's hand went to his bandaged side; it didn't hurt as much as his other injuries had. A graze was small potatoes compared to a punctured lung, massive blood loss, nerve damaged, and a fucked-up knee. He'd survive. "Someone had to save Bobby's ass."

Angel laughed. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously. He didn't tell you?"

"Nope."

Jack rolled his eyes. "He's probably worked it out in his brain how he kept me from being killed, rescued the girl, and saved the day."

"There was a girl?"

"Yup."

"And …" Even in the dark, Jack could see how big Angel's grin was. If he had a book, he could read off the light reflected from his teeth.

"And she's like a female version of Bobby. Loud mouthed, thinks she's badass, calls me kid."

"A chick version of Bobby?"

Jack nodded.

"I don't know whether to be happy for the dude or terrified for him."

Jack blew out a cloud of smoke as he laughed. "How about a little of both?"

He finished up his cigarette and pulled out a second one, twirling the lighter around, marveling at how quiet even Detroit can be at one in the morning.

"How did the thing go with your mom?"

He shrugged - wondering when his brother had taken such an interest in his life and turned into a thug version of Chatty Kathy. "It was awkward as hell," he admitted.

"Took guts. Don't think I could've done it."

Jack squinted up at the moon, a sliver in the black sky. "Still not sure why I did."

"It'll take time, Jackiepoo, but you'll see it was worth it."

"Angel Mercer: Shrink for Hire?" Jack asked with a lopsided grin.

Angel barked out a laugh. "I'll send you the bill."

XxXxXxXxXx

The mess they were in didn't look any better in the morning – not that Jack was surprised. He was back in his usual spot on the couch and it was like he'd never left.

Sofi was next to him, her jaw black and blue but her eyes flashing with annoyance that she was being kept out of the conversation. She was stuck with Jack on the couch, the proverbial kiddy table where they were ignored. Jack was used to it, Sofi should be too, but he knew she liked to butt in whenever possible, so the whole not-talking thing had to be killing her. He just wanted a cigarette.

The whole thing was like a boxing match.

Jerry took the first swing, shaking his head, clearly worried. "No, Bobby, that ain't gonna work."

Bobby blocked with his typical gruff attitude. "Trust me on this, Jer."

And Angel coached from the sidelines. "Bobby, Jerry might have a point."

And so and so forth. From his vantage point on the couch, it looked eerily similar to the "discussion" they'd had with Jerry over Evelyn's death and the bribery money. At least they weren't shouting this time and pounding the shit out of each other and he didn't feel ready to crawl out of his own skin to get away from them.

As if he was suddenly thrust back in time and cursed to relive that day, the doorbell rang, causing him to jump so suddenly he could feel every one of the stitches holding his side together pull under the strain.

"Ow, fuck," he cursed and Bobby glared over at him.

"You stay your ass on the couch, fairy," he ordered and Jack was torn between agreeing with him or flipping him the bird.

Bobby was gone for a minute, answering the door, apparently not getting shot at. So far, the plan was working out better than the last one.

His brother returned, followed by a black guy in dark suit who bore a striking resemblance to the late Lieutenant Green. Clearly Green's brother. Clearly the FBI agent Bobby was so pissed about.

The guy walked over to him – at least someone in the house acknowledged his existence. He was holding out his hand. "Marcus Green."

"Jack," he said as he shook his hand, his throat suddenly tight, flashes of the older Green playing out in his memory. He was a good guy, despite being a cop. There had been far too few good guys in his life, but he could always count on Green, even when he was handcuffed in the back of his car, he knew he'd look out for him.

For Marcus, this whole operation was like the shit they went through with Evelyn. Revenge. He needed it for his big brother, to somehow make up for losing him. Jack wanted to tell him it wasn't worth it – nothing could ever fix that and chances are, this whole thing was just going to make it worse.

"We've got this whole thing worked out," Bobby announced and Marcus turned around.

"That so?" Clearly humoring the oldest Mercer.

"Sweet thinks he won – me and Jack are dead. We send Jerry in, wanting to resolve things, keep his family alive. Make a deal." Bobby remained standing as Marcus sat down in the armchair. "Everyone knows Jerry likes to make deals."

"Hey!" Jerry interrupted.

"So it won't set off any warning bells that shit's about to go down," Bobby continued, ignoring his brother's outburst.

"And that shit is you?" Marcus said, not nearly as sarcastically as Jack would have said it.

"You got a better idea?" Bobby sat down on the coffee table, leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees. He had that gleam in his eye that Jack knew all too well – Marcus didn't have a chance in hell of winning this argument. "Let me guess, we get a confession on tape and the FBI swoops in, arrests him, throws him behind bars for two fucking minutes before his fancy lawyers get him out on a technicality? You want payback for your brother, we do this shit my way."

"There is no FBI waiting to swoop in," Marcus said steadily.

"What?" Jack said from the couch, suddenly confused.

"Yeah, like Jackie said, 'What?'" Angel said, taking a step forward, his expression darkening.

Marcus looked at his hands and then back up at Bobby, his eyes narrowing like he was bracing for a fight. "I'm flying solo on this."

"So no backup?" Bobby said with a nod, a weird look on his face – like this was a good development. Jack had no fucking clue what to think anymore – five against however many goons Sweet armed himself with were not exactly odds he liked.

Marcus nodded back, sizing up Bobby, trying to get a read on him. "No backup. If I can bring him in, I will, but if he accidentally takes a bullet between the eyes, I won't be heartbroken."

"Do the Feds know you're working this on your own?" Angel asked, sitting down next to Bobby on the coffee table, knocking over the bowl of dusty hard candy in the process.

"They have their suspicions." Marcus leaned back in the chair, straightening his plain black tie out over his crisp white shirt. "I tried to get my superiors to take this case seriously, but I think they saw it as some sort of pet project and they weren't in the mood to humor me. I took my vacation time and found myself back home."

"On our doorstep," Jerry said. He looked a damn sight more nervous than Angel and Bobby.

"Just like old times," Marcus said with a fleeting grin.

"Our _old times_ in this neighborhood were never your _old times_ ," Angel said, his intent clear. He may have grown up here, but the city didn't leave the same mark on Marcus that it left on the rest of them.

Jerry jumped in. "Fuck, Marcus, the most street you ever got was skipping class once to go see a matinee of Lethal Weapon 3."

"Hey, man, that was a good movie," Marcus said, laughing softly.

"Things work differently out here than they do behind a pansy-ass desk in a three piece suit with Uncle Sam covering your ass." Bobby made a show of pulling out his gun and checking the clip. "The rules ain't the same."

"Bobby, you might have this clean cut image in your head of me, but I know what I'm up against and I know what to expect. I came to you guys for a reason. You're a means to an end and we all want the same end."

Jack glanced over at Sofi. Her lips were pursed and she was drumming her fingers on the arm of the couch. He was pretty sure the end she wanted was a trip down the aisle, not her fiancé in a coffin. As for him, he had no clue what he wanted – probably peace and quiet to write his music and play his guitar, something he wouldn't be able to do as long as people were gunning for him and his family. But who was to say another head wouldn't sprout up in Sweet's place as soon as they cut it off? Their luck sucked; it was only a matter of time.

Bobby stood up and walked over to Green, his brow furrowed and eyes flashing. "You came to us, that means shit gets done our way. It's gonna be messy and it's gonna be bloody and I need to know you're on our side and you won't wimp out and run off with your tail between your legs at the first sign of trouble."

"I cleaned up the mess you left in California, didn't I?" Marcus raised an eyebrow – Jack knew Bobby needed reminding. Favors never lingered long in his memory.

"You have my word," Marcus said, holding out his hand.

As reluctantly as Bobby Mercer ever could be in the face of possibly blowing shit up, he reached out shook the offered hand, sealing the deal. "So, first things first," he said. "Where do we stash Jackiepoo and La Vida Loca until this shit blows over?"

Sofi stood up suddenly and yelled out, "¿Que?" at the exact same time Jack jumped up and said, "What?" Sofi grabbed her jaw with a groan of pain and sunk back down into her seat and Jack's knee gave way he fell backwards, the couch cushioning his fall.

"What the fuck do you mean, 'What'?" Bobby spun around, giving them a thoroughly disgusted look. "Princess here keeps swooning like he has the fucking vapors and you," he glared at Sofi, "are a headache even when you have to keep your trap shut."

"You need more than the four of you," Jack argued, his hands twisting in the cuffs of his long sleeve t-shirt. "This isn't like last time. Sweet is organized; he's not going to get tricked like you think he will."

Bobby cut him off with a sigh. "Jack, if you were a hundred percent I'd take you with us in a heartbeat, but you're not. You're beat and strung out and if you go …" Bobby's voice trailed off and he looked down, taking a deep breath before looking back up, meeting Jack's eye. "I can't watch you get hurt again. I already let Ma down twice and I won't do it again."

"Fine," Jack mumbled, a mixture of guilt and worry. He didn't want to be stuck behind, waiting for God knows how long find out if he had any family left at the end of this whole thing. The cuff of his shirt was totally ruined, the threads unraveling, the fabric stretched, but he kept twisting it, not noticing the damage he was doing. "I'll stay with Sofi. But Bobby …"

"Yeah, Jackie?"

He took a deep breath. "I've got a bad feeling about this."


	33. Chapter 33

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Trouble Man_ by Marvin Gaye.

**Chapter 33**

_I didn't make it, sugar  
Playin' by the rules_

" _I've got a bad feeling about this."_

Any other day, Jack would gloat about being right – maybe not to Bobby's face since he wasn't stupid, but he'd definitely feel a little surge of pride at figuring out the shit that his brother claimed to be such an expert at. Problem was, Bobby was so wrong this time that if they made it out of this fucked up mess alive, he would never in a million years tell him he told him so.

The car hit another pothole and he bit back a groan as it rattled every bruise, cut and bullet wound he'd received that week. His wrists were wrapped in duct tape and they'd thrown a piece over his mouth. Sofi was lying behind him, tied up and gagged, though it wasn't hard to make out the impressive string of curse words she was unleashing behind the duct tape.

They were trapped in a trunk, headed to God knows where and the asshole who was driving seemed to be aiming directly for every pothole in Michigan.

Jack just wished he was a tiny bit surprised by the latest turn of events, but he wasn't. On the plus side, they were more or less in one piece and the car hadn't been set on fire or driven off a cliff yet. But the night was still young.

He was supposed to keep Sofi safe, and to say he fucked that up was an understatement.

They were doing exactly what Bobby had ordered them to do – staying out of the way, hiding out in a crappy hotel in Flint. They were bored out of their minds, watching the Food Network as Sofi paged through wedding magazines, when the door was suddenly broken down. Next thing he knew, Jack was waking up in a trunk with a splitting headache, tied up and confused.

One thing was certain – Bobby was going to be pissed when he found out what happened, he just hoped he was alive to see it.

XxXxXxXxXx

Jerry never felt more self conscious than he did at that moment, standing at the door of an abandoned restaurant, wearing a wire even though he had no idea what good a wire was going to do in a situation that was more than likely going to end in gunfire.

There was no turning back once he pushed open that door and he hated that part of him actually considered running off into the night. If he knew without a doubt that Sweet wouldn't come after Camille and the kids, then he probably would have taken them and gotten the hell out of Detroit once and for all. But there were no guarantees with this, and as far as he knew, Sweet wouldn't be happy until every Mercer was dead and buried.

Stepping through that door was like signing his own death sentence and he hoped like hell Bobby and Green knew what they were doing and that their plan worked.

Jerry glanced at the name stenciled in gold across the frosted glass window. _Victor's._ Seemed fitting in some sick way that the place it was all going to end was named after the creep who started it all.

Saying a silent prayer, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

XxXxXxXxXx

Angel hated hiding. It felt like the cowardly thing to do, waiting it out in a coat check closet, waiting for his brother to give the signal. He hated even more that Jerry was the one they were sending into the direct line of fire. Jerry was his brother and a survivor like the rest of them, but he knew how he got sometimes under pressure and you couldn't get more under pressure than they were at that moment.

He and Green were huddled over a high-tech, FBI-issued piece of equipment that was picking up the signal from the wire Jerry was wearing. Angel held the headphones next to his ear, listening in as Roy Sweet greeted his older brother in a tone of voice that was menacing in its calmness. He had a gun in his other hand, and he tightened his grip on it, waiting for just the right moment to drop the headphones and storm into the other room.

Green was calmer than calm, but he'd already lost his brother. This was revenge for him. For the Mercers, it was survival.

XxXxXxXxXx

"Jeremiah Mercer," Roy Sweet said slowly with a nod of his head. He sounded so much like Victor that Jerry's step faltered for a second. He hiked the bag he was carrying higher on his shoulder, hoping his hesitation didn't look like weakness.

The bag was full of stacks of cut up newspapers, made to resemble bundles of bills. Why they bothered with the deception, Jerry didn't know. It wasn't like anyone was going to be fooled by it once the bag was open. He figured it was just a task Green assigned to make it feel like they were actually doing something to prepare for the "Operation" as the FBI agent had taken to calling it.

"I'm impressed that you showed up," Sweet added. He was older than Jerry had pictured and far heavier, his voice booming from his large chest.

"I keep my word," Jerry said, trying to keep his voice steady. He glanced around the restaurant. It was one he'd never been in but he remembered the reputation it had when it was open. Flashy and expensive, the place all the local gangsters liked to hang out in to feel rich and classy. It was tacky as hell – just like Victor. No matter how much gold you painted over it, a thug was still a thug and a shithole was still a shithole.

Roy Sweet made a motion, a heavy gold pinky ring flashing in the light, and four large men in dark suits stepped out of the shadows. Jerry wasn't surprised to see them. He stood his ground, trying not to let on that they rattled him. These guys were professionals, not the ex-union guys that Victor employed, trading in their need for money and steady work for loyalty and protection. There were no deals he and his brothers could ever make with these guys to get out of that restaurant unscathed.

"And I keep mine," Sweet said. "I told your brother that I would take from him what he took from me."

"And you did that. It's over," Jerry said, his chest aching even though it was a lie. Jack and Bobby were alive and well; but as far as this bastard knew, they were dead, killed in California by his hired guns. For once, Bobby's quick thinking seemed to have worked.

"Shot down on the street like the dogs they were." Sweet twisted his pinky ring on his finger and sighed. "Doesn't fill me with the satisfaction I was hoping for, though, and I can't figure out why."

"Revenge never solves things the way you hoped it would," Jerry answered.

Roy's eyes grew cold and Jerry realized he'd said the wrong thing. "Maybe you should have thought of that before you killed my son."

XxXxXxXxXx

"Shit," Angel whispered, dropping the headphones and reaching for the door.

Green put a hand on his arm and stopped him, silencing him with a finger to his lips. "Not yet," he whispered.

"Fuck that shit, that's my brother in there," Angel answered, reading to spring out of the coat room, firing at anything that moved.

"We're close."

"You ain't any closer than before Jerry walked in there."

Green held up his hands. "Five more minutes, tops. Bobby needs time."

XxXxXxXxXx

"He killed my mother," Jerry said steadily.

Sweet started to pace. "Ah yes, the saintly Evelyn Mercer. He told me about her, how she was causing so much trouble. He was too soft, just wanted to scare her. I told him he couldn't let some old lady make him look stupid and weak."

"You told him to kill her?"

"Suggested is more like it. I like to offer advice when it's needed." He stopped pacing and looked right at Jerry. "For example, I would have told you that coming in here alone was a stupid idea, even if your brother is hiding somewhere in the restaurant, waiting to ambush me."

Jerry opened his mouth to protest, but Roy cut him off with a sweep of his hand. "Let's not embarrass ourselves with another lie." Roy gave him an almost sympathetic look. "And I know you have no money to bargain with."

"You're just full of knowledge, aren't you?" Jerry didn't like where this was going and was wondering just what was taking his backup so long to make themselves known.

"You're thinking the only way your wife and daughters stay safe is for me to die in this club tonight."

"You already killed two of my brothers. What more do you want?"

Sweet started to laugh and Jerry's blood ran cold. "I want you to welcome our guests, Mr. Mercer."

XxXxXxXxXx

"What the fuck?" Angel said as he glanced at Green, who had his gun out and his hand on the door.

Green opened it a fraction of an inch and peeked through. "Shit," he said, watching as two more men entered the restaurant, dragging Jack and Sofi with them. "Things just got more complicated."

XxXxXxXxXx

Bobby watched helplessly from outside the building as his brother and Sofi were pushed onto the floor.

He grabbed the gas can at his feet, having already emptied one around the perimeter of the restaurant and more than ready to empty a second one over the heads of the assholes inside. Gun in hand, he pushed open the door.

"Wouldn't start a party without me, would you?" he announced. Wasn't exactly the plan he'd discussed with his brothers and Green, but when the fuck did his plans ever work out anyway?

He poured out a trail of gasoline as he walked toward the gathering in the center of the room. He dropped the can when he was done and fished a lighter out of his pocket – Jack's lighter that he'd stolen from his coat when he wasn't looking.

"Bobby Mercer. You're looking surprisingly healthy for a dead man," Sweet said, not the least bit surprised to see the oldest Mercer standing in front of him.

"If you stay away from fatty foods and carbs, you live longer. May want to look into it. A jog around a track once in a while couldn't hurt either."

Sweet ignored the insults. "I'm surprised you let the situation get out of hand as far as it has, Mr. Mercer. You handed me your whole family on a silver platter. Massacres can be messy, but I am looking forward to this one."

"Not as much as I am," Bobby said with a nod and Angel and Green stormed through the door of the room they'd been hiding in.

Angel had killed two guys before anyone even noticed they were in the room. Green followed close behind, but the gunfire grew more intense and he managed to wound one guy before having to take cover behind the bar.

Jerry dropped his bag and pulled out his gun, diving toward Jack and Sofi, hoping to help them before they got caught in the crossfire. Jack winced as Jerry pulled the tape off his mouth.

"You okay, kiddo?" Jerry asked and Jack nodded, rubbing the circulation back into his hands as Jerry got to work on cutting Sofi free.

"Get them the fuck out of here," Bobby yelled above the gunfire.

"But -" Jack started to protest, but Jerry pushed him toward the door.

"You heard him, get the hell out of here," Jerry shouted. "Keep Sofi safe."

Jack ducked and ran, pulling Sofi behind him, wishing the door was closer than it was.

They were two steps out the door when the place suddenly burst out in flames, tossing them painfully to the ground.

"Angel!" Sofi yelled, and Jack caught her around the waist to keep her from running back inside. "No!" she cried and he watched helplessly as the flames filled the doorway and shattered the windows.

Guns were still going off and Jack took small comfort in the fact that someone still had to be alive inside.

It was when the gunfire stopped that he felt like falling to his knees and giving up.


	34. Chapter 34

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _The Cave_ by Mumford and Sons

**Chapter 34**

_And I will hold on hope  
And I won't let you choke  
On the noose around your neck_

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Jack was ready to launch himself at the wall and tear down the clock and smash it into a thousand tiny, non-ticking pieces.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Listening as each second was counted off one by one was going to drive him insane.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Jack had his leg propped up on a chair, a bag of ice slowly melting on top of his knee. The ER doctor gave him his third set of crutches and told him to see his regular doctor as soon as possible. The stitches in his side had also torn a bit, but doctor said they were okay and put a new bandage on them. He'd also managed to add a new injury to his roster, a bad burn on his arm that was wrapped tightly.

Jerry wandered into the waiting room and Jack almost slumped to the floor in relief.

His brother looked like crap, but other than the sling on his arm and the bandage wrapped around his bicep, he was in one piece. He raised his arm and winced. "Took the bullet out, couple of stitches. No big deal." He looked pale and shaken and Jack didn't believe him for a second that he thought getting shot, however minor, was "no big deal".

"Camille?" Jack asked, his voice raspy from smoke.

"Might need to come back for more stitches after she gets a hold of me." Jerry practically collapsed onto the chair next to Jack. "I called her."

"And …"

"And I'm surprised all of Michigan didn't hear her screaming at me, telling me how she knew I was gonna get hurt, and how the whole thing was Bobby's fault." Jerry's gave a small laugh, shaking his head. "It's like the woman has it pre-recorded and presses play whenever she's pissed now."

Jack grinned and fidgeted with the bandage wrapped around the burn on his wrist. "Angel?" he asked quietly, hoping there was a good reason only one brother had come up from the Emergency Room.

"He took in a lot of smoke." Jack knew that; Angel couldn't catch his breath when he'd escaped from the club, coughing and hacking up a storm. "They have him on oxygen and are waiting to see if they're going to admit him. Sofi's with him, making up for not talking for the last few days."

"Can't shut her up?" Jack asked with a grin.

"Nope. And Angel is stuck." Jerry leaned his head back and gave a tired laugh. "The look he gave me when I said I was going to come check on you …"

"Trapped?"

"With no way out."

"Their marriage should be fun," Jack said dryly.

"Nah," Jerry said with a shrug, "they're gonna last, mark my word." He stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. He looked like he was ready to pass out and Jack wished he could shut his brain off long enough to do the same.

The room grew silent again and the clock was still ticking and Jack slumped back in his chair, wishing he could fast forward through the next few hours of his life.

Jack sucked at waiting. Everyone figured he was good at it because he was so quiet, but his mind was in overdrive, playing out every possible outcome he could come up with. His breathing was ragged from his nerves and he wanted a cigarette more than anything, but given the fact he'd inhaled a few thousand cigarettes worth of smoke that night, he figured he should steer clear of them for at least a few hours.

His damn knee made pacing a pain in the ass, so all he could do was sit and stare at the wall and listen to the clock and remember everything as he tried so hard to forget it.

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack couldn't tell if it was only a few minutes or hours that had passed since the restaurant had burst into flames. It felt like forever before he saw any sign of life.

Jerry and Marcus stumbled threw the front door, dragging Angel between them. It was hard to tell with all the soot just who was hurt and how badly, but they all looked like they'd been drug to hell and back. Bobby was nowhere to be seen and Jack gut clenched at the thought that he was still inside.

Gasping for breath, Angel told him where he'd last seen Bobby, but that he couldn't be certain because it was such a mess inside.

Jerry had lunged for Jack as he headed to go inside, trying to stop him. Jack didn't even give it a second thought. Bobby needed him and there was no way in hell he wasn't going to do everything in his power to get him out. He didn't even think for a second that he wouldn't find him.

"Bobby!" he shouted through a cough, but the roar of the flames drowned him out. He couldn't see shit and he flinched as parts of the ceiling started to drop from above. His limp was bad, the leg brace left somewhere in the hotel room he and Sofi had been ambushed in – he'd taken it off the second they entered the room since it looked like they were in for a long night of TV and takeout. At least the adrenaline kept him from feeling any pain – he'd pay for it in the morning, but he didn't give a shit at that moment.

Just when he thought he'd failed and would either keep stumbling around in the flames and smoke until he succumbed or he'd have to go back outside and face his brothers with the fact he failed, he tripped over something and fell to the ground. He fumbled around, trying to figure out what it was, sickened to feel cloth beneath his fingers and a sticky, warm wetness he had a feeling was blood. He reached out blindly, trying to get a feel for who it was and if they were still alive, but all he could feel was more blood and gore that made him gag. He couldn't see shit and he prayed the body didn't belong to his brother.

He put his hands on the floor, trying to get some leverage under him to get up and resume his search. More blood had pooled beneath the body and it took all of Jack's willpower not to throw up right there. He managed to push himself away and staggered further into the inferno. It was another ten steps or so before he tripped over another body.

"Fuck," a familiar voice cried out and Jack had never been so happy to hear Bobby curse in his life. Jack practically collapsed on the ground next to him, hoping to reach some fresh air closer to the floor.

Bobby was crouched back by the kitchen door. He was holding a gun and looked pissed as hell. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he bit out.

Jack glared at his brother, covering his face as a round of couching seized his chest, reminding him that his lung had healed not too long ago. "What the fuck to you think I'm fucking doing? Getting you the hell out of here."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "You came to rescue me?"

"That was the plan."

"Thanks, but no thanks. Get your fairy ass out of here before you get yourself killed."

"Not without you." Jesus, Jack thought, he sounded like he was in the middle of some goddamn chick flick, and he was the chick.

Bobby nodded toward the kitchen door and motioned with his gun. "This ain't over yet."

Jack tugged on his jacket, trying to drag him toward the exit before the whole ceiling collapsed. "Jesus Christ, Bobby, this is over. It can't be more over if you tried."

"Sweet is still alive. This ain't over until he's dead."

"Pretty sure the fire will take care of that."

Bobby shrugged off Jack's hand. "Never fucking leave it to chance, Jack. The motherfucker's not dead until I put a bullet between his eyes. You either get the fuck out of here or you're coming in there with me."

"He's in the kitchen?" Jack asked and Bobby sneered.

"Yeah, Einstein, he's in the kitchen."

"What do I do?" He didn't even have a tire iron with him this time.

"You stay out of the fucking way and then we get out of here." Bobby checked the clip on his gun and pulled back on the slide. "There's an exit back there, so we have a way out once I take care of this."

Jack nodded. He understood. Stay out of the fucking way, don't get shot, pray Bobby didn't get shot, watch some creep die, and then escape. He was going to take the longest nap in the history of naps when this thing was finally over.

XxXxXxXxXx

He looked up when a nurse stepped into the waiting room. He remembered her from his hospital stay – her name was Mary and she'd shared her Christmas dinner with him when he was lonely and wallowing in self pity.

"Hi, Jack," she said softly, sitting on the coffee table across from him. Jerry was oblivious, snoring in the chair next to him. Jack had tried to take a nap, but settled for paging through countless issues of _People Magazine_ and _Better Homes and Gardens_ instead. The way Mary was looking at him suddenly made him very nervous.

"Did you hear something? Is Bobby -" he started but she shook her head.

"No update, as far as I know." She gave him a sympathetic smile, one he was sure they were all trained to do in nursing school. "I heard you were down here and just thought I'd stop by and say hi, see if you needed anything."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Thanks. I'm fine."

"Really?" She raised an eyebrow and he realized how he must look, covered in soot, exhausted, seconds away from the world's worst nicotine fit.

"Really." He nodded, hoping she couldn't see that his hands were shaking.

Of course he was fine; he wasn't in the operating room, fighting for his life.

XxXxXxXxXx

The fire wasn't as bad in the kitchen. Jack figured Bobby must not have poured as much gasoline around this part of the restaurant.

"Stubborn man, Mr. Mercer," Roy Sweet said from somewhere in the long room. There were lots of places to hide and the guy could be a hundred feet away or right behind them.

"The same could be said about you," Bobby answered as he started to look around, gun at the ready, walking slowly through the kitchen. Jack grabbed the only weapon he could find on the sink, a rolling pin. Bobby laughed when he saw it and Jack just shrugged.

Flames flickered against the stainless steel surfaces of the counters and appliances and it made the whole room look alive, jumping around them. It also made it hard as hell to focus on what was going on. Sweet could be anywhere.

A shadow moved in the corner and Bobby swung his gun in its direction as Jack took a step back and ducked a bit.

"It's a shame. You could have come to work for me if things had turned out differently." Jack felt a shiver run down his spine and he could sense someone standing behind him, like a darkness had settled in the room, swallowing the smoke and flames.

He spun around just as Bobby did the same, pushing Jack onto the ground, pointing his gun and firing in one fluid, graceful motion.

Roy Sweet was standing there, a gun in his hand, a calm grin on his face and Jack watched in stunned silence as he wavered slightly on his feet. It was only as his head tilted forward that Jack could see the bullet wound in his forehead, illuminated by the flames that were growing increasingly stronger in the stifling room. He collapsed to the ground – dead and Jack fell back on his elbows, deflated as the adrenaline of the moment seemed to rush out of him.

Bobby wasn't moving and Jack struggled to get to his feet. "Let's get out of here," he said, grabbing Bobby's arm. Bobby didn't immediately respond, but instead turned slowly, a stunned look on his face as he raised his hand to his chest and the blood that was spreading across his sweatshirt. Time had stopped and Bobby fell to his knees in slow motion, pulling Jack down with him as he grabbed onto his shoulders.

"Oh, fuck, no," Jack said with sob.

XxXxXxXxXx

When the next person to come into the waiting room was Green and not the surgeon, Jack was ready to scream. He wanted to know about Bobby – he didn't give a shit about anything else other than his family.

"They salvaged the recorder," the FBI agent said.

 _Big fucking deal_. "That's nice," Jack said, not looking up from last month's _In Style._

As far as he was concerned, Green was just as much to blame for Bobby being shot as Sweet was. He'd left that restaurant, abandoning Bobby to God knows what. He wasn't coughing his brains out like Angel or shot like Jerry. As far as he could tell, Green came through the whole ordeal unscathed and with a fucking gold star to pin to his record with the FBI. He'd used them and worst of all, they'd let him.

"Sorry about Bobby."

Jack's grip tightened on the magazine. "He'll be okay," Jack said. _Liar._ You don't get shot in the chest and then waltz on home the next day, he was proof enough of that.

He kept flashing to the gunfight in the snow and Bobby above him, begging him to stay, to hold on.

The last hour or so, his brain had thought it would be fun to play a rousing game of "What if?" What if he'd given up and just died right then and there? Would Sweet have bothered to come after them for revenge? Would his dying had been payment enough? Would Bobby be perfectly fine, probably sitting on the couch at home, bitching at Sofi about her cooking and making fun of Angel and Jerry? Would his family be in one piece?

Guilt was stupid and pointless. He wished he could be more like Bobby and just get pissed off at everything. But he remained silent as he sensed Green staring down at him, waiting for him to start a conversation, make small talk, shoot the shit with the guy who left his brother to die. Eventually Green gave up and mumbled something about coffee and the cafeteria.

Jack threw the magazine across the room when he left.

XxXxXxXxXx

 _For someone so short, he sure weighs a fucking ton_ , Jack thought as he dragged Bobby toward the exit at the back of the kitchen. The fire had gotten exponentially worse in the few minutes it had taken for Bobby's plan to go disastrously wrong.

"We're never doing the gas thing again," Jack ground out as his shoulder burned beneath the strain of his brother's dead weight.

"Deal," Bobby gasped and Jack almost dropped him, not realizing he was conscious. He lost his momentum and steered into a metal rack. "Ow," Bobby yelled out.

"Sorry," Jack said with a grunt. "This ain't easy, you know." The fire had moved to the ceiling and Jack couldn't keep from glancing up at the burning timbers. They didn't have much time left.

Bobby decided to get dramatic. "Just leave me. Get the fuck out of here. Save yourself."

"Sure thing, Scarlet O'Hara," Jack mumbled.

"Who?"

"Never mind." Jack grinned, happy to have Bobby talking to him, not ready to admit how much he dreaded getting out the door, only to realize he'd been too late.

Only a few more feet and …

The ceiling started to creek and the first pieces that fell came dangerously close. Jack tried to speed up, but his knee buckled beneath him and he cried out in pain and frustration.

He had no choice but to crawl backwards, pulling Bobby inch by agonizing inch toward the door. A huge chunk of flaming debris landed on his arm and he shook it off, but not before it burned through his jacket. He felt the skin blister, but he didn't feel any pain. He tried his best not to lose his grip on Bobby.

Only a few more feet. His arms and back ached with the strain and his lungs felt he'd been shot a hundred more times. His body wanted to give up and it took all his strength to keep going.

Suddenly, everything turned black and red and orange and hotter than he could ever imagine as the world exploded around him. He lunged over Bobby, trying to protect him from whatever was descending upon them when he felt someone grab him from behind, pulling both him and Bobby the last few feet to safety.

XxXxXxXxXx

Camille had shown up and taken one look at Jack and started fussing over him. Jerry was a little miffed that his wife had passed him over but he realized Jack could probably use a little mothering. The girls were still at her mother's, but she couldn't wait until the next day to come back to Detroit like she'd promised Jerry she would. Jack noticed the way Jerry couldn't take his eyes off her, following every move his wife made, like he wanted to burn her image onto his brain and he figured Camille had made the right decision.

Angel and Sofi had made their way to the waiting room, despite orders from the doctor for Angel to go home and sleep.

Green wandered back in and Jack ignored him. Jerry leaned over and whispered, "He's the one who pulled you guys out of there, you know."

Jack shrugged.

Green cleared his throat. "Any word?"

Everyone just stared at him.

Before the silence moved beyond awkward into downright uncomfortable, a man in bloodstained scrubs walked in.

Jack, Jerry and Angel all sat up a little straighter. Jack could hear his own heart pounding in his ears, the slightly smoking rasp in his chest as he drew in a deep breath.

"I'm the doctor who operated on your brother."

"And …" Jerry said.

"And it was touch and go there for a while."

"Doc, we don't need the play by play right now," Angel interrupted. "Is my brother still alive?"

The doctor's shoulders relaxed. "Yes."

Jerry shifted in his seat, wincing as he jarred the wound in his arm. "Is he gonna stay that way?"

The doctor paused for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. Jack wondered if he realized stalling would only get him a face full of pissed-off Mercers.

"Barring any complications, he will make a full recovery."

Jerry stood up and shook the doctor's hand. "See, Doc, that wasn't so hard, now was it?"

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack was leaning on his crutches in the dark room. The only light was above the bed and cast everything in a creepy green shade. The sound of the respirator was oddly calming and Jack found himself breathing in time to it – in and out, in and out.

He got a weird sense of déjà vu, as though he could remember watching his brothers standing around his hospital bed, watching him breathe, worried that if they looked away he'd stop.

Jerry walked over to him and threw his good arm over his shoulders. "Time to go home, kiddo."

Jack looked at the bed, at his brother, hooked up to machines, not breathing on his own, all kinds of tubes and wires and shit running every which way. "We can't be sure."

"He's going to be okay, Jack. Let's go home before we all wind up in the hospital." Jack shook his head and Jerry ruffled his hair like Bobby sometimes did.

Jack let Jerry lead him to the door, but paused to take a look back before leaving. He felt something brush against his cheek and a soft voice whispered in his ear. "Go home, Jackie. I'll keep him safe."

"Thanks, Ma," he said quietly as he closed the door.


	35. Chapter 35

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _The Rainbow Connection_ by The Muppets (this fits surprisingly well …)

**Chapter 35**

_Have you been half asleep and have you heard voices?_

_  
_

Bobby cradled the phone on his shoulder, slamming the door to his office shut with his foot, muffling the loud music pounding in the club.

"Hey, Ma," he said, once he was sure he could be heard over the "Bow chick wow wow" stripper music the chick on stage loved to use. Bobby told her it was cliché as fuck and her argument was to wave her stack of dollar bills in his face. She won that round.

"How's my oldest?" Evelyn asked and Bobby shrugged.

"The usual." He sat down, propping his feet up on his desk, settling in just in case it turned into one of those long calls Evelyn liked to have. It was his own damn fault for not calling for months at a time. They had a lot of ground to cover. Even though he never told her everything, somehow Evelyn wound up being his confessor, his priest that he used when he felt the need lessen the burden of his sins from his shoulders. Even if most of the shit he did stayed in between the lines of the "I'm fines" and "Same old, same olds", to Bobby it still counted as a confession and he was going to take what he could get.

"How's my favorite mom?" he asked, cringing at the cheesy line, but he knew she ate that shit up, even if she knew how much it pained him to say that kind of crap.

"Your favorite mom is just fine, though she misses you."

He closed his eyes and sighed. Every year, like clockwork, it was the same phone call. Holidays always brought out the hopeful side to Evelyn.

"I miss you too, Ma." Wasn't a lie – he missed her like crazy. She was his rock. She made him feel like someone normal, someone worth caring about, even if he didn't know how to care back.

"It's lonely here," she admitted and he felt a knife twist in his gut.

"Jackie…" he started and she interrupted.

"Is in New York with his band. He said was he was going to try to come home," she chuckled softly. "I hope that boy doesn't play poker, because he'd never win a hand. I could hear the lie in his voice all the way clear to Michigan."

Bobby laughed at that. "Yeah, well, let's just say Jackiepoo's money has lined many pockets in Detroit."

There was a pause and he could picture her, trying to find a way to say the thing she'd been waiting to say since she'd picked up the phone and dialed. "There's plenty of room at Jerry's table. You're more than welcome," she said, hopeful and cheery, though it sounded slightly forced.

Bobby had to glance at the Playboy calendar behind him to figure out what holiday she was even talking about. Thanksgiving. One of the few holidays that he enjoyed – his mom's cooking and Turkey Cup. Any holiday that combined pumpkin pie with beating the shit out some neighborhood guys out on the ice was okay in his book.

He was very tempted to go home – so tempted that he almost told her yes right then and there. He hadn't been home in years. The familiar smell of the house was fading from his memory, like it needed to be recharged. There were times, when the people who worked for him mentioned their families, that he'd almost forgotten he had one. That he came from somewhere, that he wasn't just adrift in this whole fucking thing on his own.

He opened his mouth, the word forming, just a breath away from jumping back into his old life head first, when she interrupted him. "It's okay, honey. I know how hard it is for you to come back." He could see her smile in his mind, sad and wistful. "Can't blame a mom for trying."

Clearing his throat, he said, "Nah, can't blame her."

"Do me a favor, at least make yourself a turkey TV dinner and say a prayer or two. Humor me?"

"You got it, Ma," he said. He was about to hang up when he stopped and said, "Ma, will you do me a favor? Maybe say a prayer for me?"

"Oh, Bobby," she laughed. "Always."

The guilt eased a bit as he hung up the phone. Running his hand through his hair, he looked around his office, at what his life had become. Tarnished as it was, it was still more than most people had expected for him. At least these walls weren't made of bars and the money flowing through his hands was legit, more or less.

Going back wouldn't get him anything. Going back would pull him under. Evelyn understood, he hoped.

Two days later, he got a call from Jerry.

XxXxXxXxXx

"Ma," Bobby cried out, twisted in his sheets, drenched in sweat.

The light came on and Jack was suddenly next to his bed, a confused look on his face, mumbling something that vaguely sounded like "Bobby" or may have just been a string of gibberish – Bobby couldn't be sure and let his head drop back against the pillows. He tried to take a deep breath but then remembered too late just how bad of an idea that was. Pain arched through his chest and it took all his self control to not let it show on his face just how much everything hurt.

Jack rubbed his eyes and ran his hand through his hair, making it look even more ridiculous than it usually did. "You okay, man?" he asked through a yawn.

Bobby shrugged; trying to play off the fact he'd just woken up from a nightmare and felt like he'd been dragged by a big rig for a thousand miles over glass. "I'll survive."

"Pain killers?" Jack limped over to the bottles littering Evelyn's dresser and started looking at the labels to find the right one.

Bobby stared at the ceiling, noticing the stain on the ceiling that meant sooner or later he'd have to look to see if the roof was leaking– probably later since he couldn't make it up the stairs without stopping to rest. "Told ya I'm fine."

Jack laughed. "Bullshit."

"If I want them, I'll take them. Don't need you hovering over me, living out your wet dream to play dress-up as a nurse."

Truth was, Bobby hated the painkillers almost as much as he hated the pain. That fuzzy, drifting feeling might be a high someone like Jack chased, but to him it made him weak, messed with his brain and left him vulnerable. He'd rather just dull the pain with a few beers.

Apparently, Jack Mercer had become a mind reader. "It's okay to zone out a bit, you know," he said. "You got all the bad guys. No one is after us. It's okay to stare at the wall and shut your brain off for a while; or God forbid, take a nap in the afternoon. Chill the fuck out, man."

Jack eased himself down onto the rocking chair next to the bed, his leg stretched out stiffly in front him. "You're always trying to teach me how to be a tough guy, now it's time to learn something from me."

Bobby squinted – there was a crack in the ceiling, too. He was dreading how much work the house still needed, even after all the patching up they did after the shootout. "What? How to be a lazy guy?"

"I've studied it for years." Jack grinned, pushing the chair back with his good leg. "I'm an expert."

"You wrote the fucking book on being a loser?"

Jack's smile faltered. "Not what I meant."

Bobby sighed. "Jesus, Jack, don't get your Wonder Woman Underoos in a fucking twist." He threw the covers back and, clutching the bandage taped to his chest, he groaned as he pushed himself out of bed. He had to steady himself – two days out of the hospital and he was still weaker than he would ever admit to anyone, including himself.

Jack pushed the chair forward and put out a hand to catch him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Knocking his brother's hand away, he said, "Going downstairs to grab a beer."

"It's two o'clock in the morning."

"And I can't fucking sleep." He grabbed his sweatshirt from the end of the bed, reluctantly letting Jack help him pull it over his head when he realized he couldn't get his arms to obey. Nothing worse than having your kid brother help you get dressed. If he offered to wipe his ass, he was going to jump out the window.

Shuffling down the hallway, Bobby paused at the top of the stairs and looked behind him. Jack was hovering.

"What?" he whispered loudly.

Jack shrugged. "Maybe I'm thirsty, too."

XxXxXxXxXx

Bobby was in his recliner and Jack was on the couch. The TV was on and it was a repeat of the news from earlier that night. Back in the day, Bobby used to watch the news to see how many people he knew had gotten arrested or shot or both during the course of the day. Nowadays, he was out of the loop on all of it, save the getting shot part.

He took a swig of his beer – his second since he made it slowly and painfully down the stairs. Jack was nursing his and eating his way through a box of Ding Dongs. Bobby joked that all that was missing was a blunt to blaze up between them and the night would be perfect.

"I can't believe it's really over," Jack said, brushing chocolate crumbs off his torn t-shirt onto the floor.

"For now."

Jack rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically.

"You got a problem, Fairy?" Bobby growled.

"So melodramatic," Jack said as he propped a pillow under his knee and stretched out. "Unless there's a grandpa we don't know about in some retirement community in Boca Raton, plotting his revenge, I'm pretty sure we can close the chapter on the Sweets."

"Don't count out old Granny Sweet. I heard she gets around pretty good in her walker for an old broad," Bobby deadpanned.

"Let me guess," Jack said with a grin, "there's a great uncle who had his hip replaced a few months ago and he holds a grudge?"

"Let's be honest, he could still outrun Angel."

Jack squinted at the ceiling. "Yeah, you got a point."

Bobby looked down at his bottle and started peeling the label. "Thanks, Jack," he said quietly.

"Huh?"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Thanks," he said louder.

"I got that. Thanks for what?"

"For coming back in and …"

"For rescuing you?" Bobby didn't need to look at him to know he was giving one of his shit-eating grins.

"Yeah, sweetheart, for rescuing me," he ground out. That hurt almost as much as his shattered ribs.

"You'd have done the same for me," Jack said with such complete certainty that Bobby started to question the kid's sanity. Had he already forgotten how Bobby had left him bleeding to death out in the snow? How he hadn't been able to fight his way out of the house until it was almost too late? Bobby was no hero that day.

He swallowed the last of his beer and Jack looked over at him. "Want me to grab another?" he asked and Bobby shook his head.

"Nah, if I drink a third, I'll be pissing until dawn."

Jack started flipping through the stations and settled on an old Clint Eastwood western.  
"Feel any better?" he asked.

Bobby shifted in the recliner, every muscle pulled in protest. "Feel less worse."

Jack gave a lopsided grin. "Guess that's a start."

XxXxXxXxXx

"Daniela Lynn Mercer, what did I tell you about bugging Uncle Bobby while he's resting?" Camille was standing in the doorway. She'd been in the kitchen, trying to make a dent in the mess three grown men left in their wake and she'd needed a break. Apparently, the Mercer men wouldn't know how to wash a plate if their lives depended upon it – don't even get her started on the pans. She actually had to throw one out.

She'd walked in on her two daughters hovering around the chair Bobby was currently passed out in, snoring so loudly the windows rattled. Jack was sprawled out on the couch, asleep as well and neither one of them had stirred once since she had arrived with the kids, deciding to drop in for a visit while Jerry had a meeting downtown.

"Umm …" Daniela stopped what she was doing and looked up at her mother. She had a bottle of nail polish and she'd been painstakingly painting her Uncle's nails a lovely shade of sparkling pink.

Camille took the bottle from her and looked at the name on the bottom. _Fairy Princess._ "You know what I told you," she said, handing the bottle back. "Never forget to do a second coat."

"No worries, I had her do a base coat first, too," Sofi said as she came down the stairs. She had a basketful of dirty clothes and she was carefully feeling for each step because she'd put three inch heels to do laundry. Coupled with a low-cut top and full-on glam makeup, Camille tried not to scold her – the woman was trying, which was more than she could say for the men of the household.

The last few months had been an adjustment – for so long it had just been her and Jerry and the girls, with Evelyn filling the role of doting Grandmother enthusiastically and lovingly. The loss of Evelyn had inexplicably made her life more hectic and … louder. It was like she'd adopted three grown men who needed more mothering than her three-year-old daughter.

Camille took the basket from Sofi before she tumbled down the stairs. "Detroit is going to run out of water before we get all this laundry done," she said.

"I say we leave it for them to do and go shopping," Sofi said. "I need to look for shoes for my wedding and I'm tired of cleaning up after these slobs."

Camille didn't have the heart to break it to her that she was marrying into this family of slobs and that meant her work was just beginning.

She hefted the basket in her hands, it was heavy and there were at least three more trips worth of clothes upstairs. It was going to be a long day. She glanced at the empty floor in front of the coffee table and raised an eyebrow.

"Shopping, you said?" she asked and Sofi nodded. Turning the basket over and dumping the contents onto the floor, she said with a smile, "Kids, finish up with Uncle Bobby's manicure. We're going to go have some girl time."

She looked back up the stairs. "I just have to get a few more things from upstairs, and then we can go."

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack woke up to find Angel staring at a mountain of clothing that had somehow appeared overnight in the middle of the family room. "Huh?" he said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

He was pretty sure he'd only had one beer the night before. Maybe the Ding Dongs were drugged? Do they go bad? Can you get Ding Dong food poisoning that causes hallucinations of laundry?

Angel didn't take his eyes off the pile. "I don't know, man." He glanced at Jack. "You sure you didn't do this?"

"Huh?" Jack really needed some coffee. Stat.

A groan emanated from the corner of the family room and Jack realized Bobby was still sleeping in the recliner. Bobby stretched out his arms and then slowly lowered the footrest, staring at his hand.

"What the fuck?" he said, simultaneously pissed and confused.

"What the fuck what?" Jack asked.

"This is what's fucking what," Bobby said as he held up his hand, the light glinting off … pink nail polish? "Care to explain this, Tinker Bell?"

XxXxXxXxXx

Jerry checked every room in the house before finally checking the backyard. There they were – his three brothers, sitting around the picnic table, drinking beer and looking like they hadn't showered, shaved or slept in at least a week.

"Here you all are," he said, letting the screen door slam behind him.

"Here we all are," Angel said as Jerry took the seat across from him.

Jerry glanced at Bobby, who looked like he was about to collapse across the table. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"It's safer out here," Jack said.

"Strange shit happening in that house, man," Angel added, shaking his head.

"Jackiepoo thinks it's haunted," Bobby said.

"I did not say that." Jack pulled out his lighter and started fidgeting with it, snapping it open and close. Jerry gave it roughly two minutes before Bobby grabbed it from Jack's hands in annoyance and pitched it into the bushes. "I said, 'maybe it's a ghost?' I meant it as a joke. Like Evelyn wanted us to clean up or something." Open. Closed. Open. Clo – Bobby grabbed the lighter and tossed it. Jerry glanced at his watch – forty-five seconds. His oldest brother's patience was running thin today.

"What exactly did this ghost do?" Jerry realized he was using his "now kids, tell daddy what happened" voice, but he figured this wasn't actually any different from the time he found Amelia with her head stuck in the banister and Daniela pouring chocolate syrup all over her, the stairs, the floor and the dog to get her sister un-stuck.

"Piled all of the dirty clothes in the middle of the family room," Jack said, twiddling his thumbs now that his lighter was gone.

"And …" Jerry prodded.

"The dishes."

"The ghost did the laundry and the dishes?" Jerry asked, trying to keep a straight face.

"No, man," Angel answered. "The ghost did the dishes, but left the laundry."

For some reason that struck Jack as funny. "Leave the gun, take the cannoli."

"What?"

"The Godfather." Jack looked around at three blank faces staring back at him. "Do the dishes … leave the laundry …" his voice trailed off. "Nevermind."

Bobby glared at him for a second before turning his attention to Jerry. "The main thing I want to know is who the fuck painted my nails pink?"

Jerry looked down a Bobby's nails and his last shred of hope of holding in his laugh crumbled. He knew that nail polish. Marvin the dog was sporting it right now on his toenails, along with the carpet and the wall in Daniela's room.

"Y'all are being haunted by a six-year-old and a three-year-old," he cackled. "Be thankful they didn't get a hold of any eyeshadow and lipstick while they were at it."

"Jackiepoo keeps all that shit on the top shelf in the bathroom, so they couldn't reach it." Bobby jumped as Jack kicked him under the table.

"What are y'all doing out here?" Camille was at the back door. "Did you not see all the laundry that needs to be done? Not to mention everything else that needs to be cleaned before this house is condemned."

The door slammed shut and she was gone. "Um …" Jack started.

"I think I liked it better when we were being haunted," Angel said with a sigh.


	36. Chapter 36

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _The End_ by Pearl Jam

**Chapter 36**

_My dear_  
The end  
Comes near

Angel kept glancing over his shoulder at the door every time it opened.

"I told you, man, no strippers," Bobby said, tilting his chair back on two legs, shaking his head.

"But …" Angel gestured to the door, confused. "This is a bachelor party, right?"

Bobby let the chair drop to the floor with a thunk. "This ain't enough for you – chillin' with your brothers, good whiskey, good conversation? Not a bad send off for your last night of freedom, if you ask me."

"Boobs, Bobby. I want to see boobs. And I don't mean you three." He leaned back in his chair, glowering his best glower as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Johnny G's was jumping for a Friday night – well, as close to jumping as a dive bar in Detroit could get - couple of rowdy twenty-somethings at the bar, Motown on the jukebox, and a scattering of couples at the tables. It was clear that everyone had one thing in common – get drunk fast, as cheaply as possible. Good ol' Detroit.

Johnny ambled on over to their table with a bottle of whiskey. He sloppily poured it into their shot glasses, clapping Angel on the shoulder. "This round's on me, guys." he said and Jack couldn't help but notice that he poured each shot slightly less full than he normally would.

Angel nodded his thanks and Johnny laughed and shook his head. "Never thought I'd see the day …"

"What day would that be?" Jerry asked, twisting the glass on the table. Jack could tell he was contemplating whether or not he should drink it – after all, he'd reached his three drink limit within thirty minutes of sitting down and Jerry hated leaving his precious Volvo behind and taking a cab. Jack didn't give a fuck and downed his seconds after Johnny had poured it.

"Another Mercer, getting hitched. Your mom would be proud." Johnny gave a sentimental smile. "I remember when she adopted each and every one of you. You know the grief the neighborhood gave her?"

Jack looked up, startled to hear Johnny talk about Evelyn in such a personal way. He really had no idea the guy knew her as more than just a sweet old lady who lived a couple of blocks away and had a reputation for taking in strays.

Johnny sighed and Jack had a brief flash of worry that he was going to start crying. Talk about awkward. "She was a great lady," Johnny said, gruffly.

"That she was," Bobby said.

Johnny sat the bottle of Jack Daniels in the center of the table. "On the house. For Evelyn," he said as he made his way back to the bar.

"Thanks, man," Jack said as he picked it up and refilled his glass. He heard Bobby growl next to him. Old habits die way too fucking hard. Despite being mostly healed from all the stupid injuries he'd received during Bobby's shitty road trip, his oldest brother still found it necessary to police every goddamn thing he did. Light a cigarette: Bobby scowls. Pour a drink: Bobby growls. Sleep past noon: Bobby bangs on his door like the house is on fire.

Jack downed the shot and then, just to piss off his brother, picked up the bottle to pour another. Bobby snatched the bottle out of his hand. "You're cut off, Princess."

"You can't tell me what to do," Jack said, his words slurring slightly.

Jerry looked down at the table, his fingers lightly tapping on the surface and he laughed.

"What?" Jack asked him.

"Nothin', man. Just that you sounded all of about five there." Jerry shook his head and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Some things never change."

"You know, Jer, you're right," Bobby said, a glint in his eye. Jack didn't like that glint. "You want a timeout in the corner while you think about your behavior tonight, Jackipoo?"

"Fuck you, man," Jack said, digging his fingernail into a gouge on the table.

"Just give him the damn bottle, Bobby," Angel said.

"You want him puking on the crazyass blushing bride as she says her 'I do's'?" Bobby asked and then he paused, a sinister grin forming. He slid the bottle in front of his youngest brother. "On second thought, drink up, Buttercup. Puke away."

Angel growled and grabbed the bottle.

"Hey," Jack said, his head starting to swim. He may have had a little too much … five, or was it six? Maybe seven? … but that didn't mean they had the right to treat him like a little kid.

"You ain't fucking up my wedding," Angel said steadily.

Bobby cackled, wincing as he rubbed the healed wound on his chest. Being an asshole had its consequences sometimes. "Leave the fucking up shit to La Vida Loca - her eight thousand bridesmaids and the Cha Cha band playing _La Cuckoo Racha_ on a constant loop."

" _La Cuckoo_ what?" Angel asked, confused as hell.

Bobby tossed back the amber liquid in his shot glass in one swallow and then leaned back in his chair, tipping it onto two legs. "Trust me, it sucks."

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack, Angel and Bobby all fidgeted in their tuxes as they stood next to Angel at the front of the church. The husband-to-be looked like he was about to have a full blown panic attack – weird breathing, sweating, clenching and unclenching his fists. Jack ran through his best man duties – basically they amounted to "don't lose the fucking ring" – and couldn't figure out what he should do.

"Jerry," he whispered. "Is Angel okay?"

Jerry leaned over and clasped a hand on Angel's shoulder. "You okay, man?"

Angel nodded on an exhale and shook his head, like he was prepping for a match in a boxing ring. Seemingly satisfied, Jerry shrugged and moved back to his spot.

"You bought that?" Jack asked.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Well, you know about this stuff."

"There's no instruction manual."

"Will you two shut the fuck up," Bobby said from behind them. He was third in line, not for any reason other than everyone agreed it was best to keep him as far away from Sofi as possible.

"Bobby, you can't say fuck – we're in a church," Jerry scolded.

Bobby pulled at his bow tie and grimaced. "That dumb bitch put me in a hot pink shirt, I'll say what ever I fucking want."

"Fuchsia," Jack said suddenly, without meaning to.

Bobby growled and Jack took a step closer to Angel. "Don't think I've forgotten your little role in this, sweetheart." Bobby's voice dripped with menace and Jack remembered Sofi asking for advice and … him giving it. _Shit._

Two bridesmaids shushed them from their side of the stage and the maid of honor glared so fiercely that Bobby may or may not have been rendered sterile at that very moment. Their part of the ceremony was done – Daniela and Amelia as flighty flower girls, a ring bearer who got distracted halfway down the aisle, and a parade of what seemed to be one hundred bridesmaids. Jack had to keep shifting his weight to keep his bad knee from giving out on him. It had been a long ceremony already and no one had even seen the bride yet.

Speaking off … the wedding march started, silencing everyone, even Bobby. The doors at the back of the church opened and Sofi was on the other side, her arm linked with her father's, her giant grin visible through her veil. Angel gave a strangled moan that sounded like air escaping from a tire, like he was slowly dying.

Jack swore he heard a metal clanking sound as Sofi made her way down the aisle. It was just under the _Wedding March,_ keeping time with the beat of the song.

Dun-Dun-Da-Da-Clang-Rattle-Dun-Dun-Da-Da-Dun-Dun

It was like Sofi was dragging a ball and chain down the aisle with her. He shook his head, and banged the heel of his palm over his ear to clear it. He was obviously going insane.

"You're next, Jackie," a voice whispered in his ear and he almost fell off the stage. Great, Evelyn was back.

"Next for what?" he whispered back and Angel gave him a funny look over his shoulder.

"You'll see," she said with a chuckle.

XxXxXxXxXx

Bobby clanged his beer bottle with his knife and then stood up - everyone in the room fell silent. Like a car crash, you didn't want to look, but you absolutely positively couldn't tear your eyes of the impending destruction.

Taking a breath, Bobby spoke, his voice booming out across the tables of wedding guests. "Sofi, no bullshit, just welcome to family." He took his seat and the whole wedding party table was staring at him, Sofi had her mouth hanging open.

"That's it?" she said, narrowing her eyes, gripping her fork, like she wasn't sure if she should drop it or hold onto it in case he was lying and she'd need to stab him for saying something awful.

Bobby stood again and cleared his throat. "Yes, that's it."

She visibly relaxed, her shoulders drooping as she sank back into her chair.

Bobby was about to sit, when he stopped, raising his fingers to the buttons of his shirt. "Oh, wait there is one thing." He quickly unbuttoned the row of buttons, easily finding them admist the ruffles. "If you ever think about putting me in a hot pink shirt again –"

"Fuchsia," she interrupted with a smug twist of her lips and he glared at her as he tugged the shirt off his shoulders.

Jack leaned over to Angel. "There's that stripper you wanted."

"Man, shut up, Jackiepoo."

Bobby leaned over and tossed the shirt, hitting Angel square in the face. "She's all yours, sweetheart."

XxXxXxXxXx

Needing some air, Bobby snuck out the back, through the kitchen of the restaurant Sofi's dad had shelled out a small fortune to rent. He wasn't the least bit surprised to see Jack out there, sitting on the steps, beer bottle in one hand, cigarette in the other.

"Those things'll kill you," he said out of habit.

Jack held up both hands. "Gotta be more specific, man." He laughed and took a long drag off his cigarette. Bobby rolled his eyes, lowering himself with a groan to the empty spot next to his brother.

Jack glanced over at him with concern. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Bobby said.

Jack gave a lopsided grin. "Just getting old?"

A smack upside the back of his head was his answer. "I can still whup your ass."

Jack winced and rubbed the back of his head and figured it would be wise to change the topic. "Wedding turned out okay."

"Still can't believe that woman is a Mercer."

"Seriously?" Jack gave him a look that told him his baby brother thought he was off his rocker. "Sofi's almost as much a Mercer as you are. Stubborn, loud, loyal … she belongs with us." Jack leaned back, his elbows braced on the step behind him.

"Don't ever let her hear you say that," Bobby said as he grabbed Jack's beer and took a long sip from it. "Don't give her an inch …"

"You should give her a break – she was really worried when you were in the hospital."

Bobby snorted a laugh. "Probably worried the wedding would be postponed for my funeral."

"Nah, we would have had it anyway."

Bobby sat the now empty bottle on the step next to him, his shoulders hunched as he looked out across the alley the kitchen opened into. He could make out the shadowy figure of a bum of few doors down and a rat was playing keep-away with a pigeon. He couldn't decide if he loved the grime or hated it. Maybe a little of both.

"It's just going to be the two of us in that house after Angel leaves," he finally said.

"Yeah," Jack answered. "I know. Weird, huh?"

"Are you staying?"

Those three words hung in the air – almost like everything they'd gone through – Evelyn, Victor, Jack almost dying, the shit with Victor's dad and then Bobby almost dying – whether it was worth it or not hinged on Jack's answer. He took a deep breath. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm staying. You?"

Bobby nodded after a few beats. "For a while. We'll see how it goes."

Jack grinned as he lit another cigarette. "You ain't going nowhere."

"Whatever you say, Jackie."

He was about to bitch at Jack for smoking just because, like with Sofi, you can't give the kid an inch, even if he really didn't care anymore. But he didn't get a chance because an unexpected visitor stepped out of the shadows and from the side of the building, stopping right in front of where they were sitting.

He looked up, mildly surprised to see who it was. "Remy?"

"Mercer," she answered, her gaze darting down the alley way before coming back to rest on him.

"Hey," Jack said with a lame wave.

"Hey, kiddo," she said, her smile shaky. Bobby narrowed his eyes as he studied her. He knew his bartender as well as just about in his life who wasn't one of his brothers – she was calm, cool, collected - even after she'd shot a guy in the head, she'd kept her wits about her and didn't freak out. Sure, shit rattled her, but she looked downright spooked standing there in front of him.

"Remember how I said you were going to owe me?" she asked, jamming her hands in the pockets of her jacket and shivering despite the fact it wasn't cold out.

"No," he said bluntly.

"Well, it's time to pay up, Mercer," she said, tilting her chin like she was bracing for a blow, a determined gleam in her eye despite her obvious nerves. "I need help."

 

 

The End


End file.
